The heart asks pleasure first
by 10miles
Summary: The ketamine has worn off and House has to find a way to deal with the loss of freedom. Again. He's struggling. Medical mysteries, clinic duty, friendship and pain, laced with a little humor and sarcasm. Focus on House/Wilson/Cuddy.
1. Chapter 1

_Everyone who has seen the promo knows House runs. Everyone also pretty much "knows" this is unlikely to last forever.  
My guess is that before, say, episode 8 something will change. ( Note : apart from the promo I am staying far far away from all spoilers )  
Here is my take on how that might happen.  
One shot for now – unless you want me to continue.  
In which case I will think up a story along the lines of Conviction ( / end of shameless promo ), with a medical case that needs solving.  
Heck, I might even have Wilson pair up with some female ( sorry, that will not be Cameron or Cuddy, or a patient for that matter. Just some stranger.  
But before I can do that I have to know what the new post-ketamine House is like..few more days to go !  
_

* * *

"Have you seen House ?"  
Wilson was getting slightly worried, no one had seen House today yet.  
He had called but no one had answered. Cuddy had called, and no one had answered.

* * *

House lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling.  
This was not happening, this couldn't be happening.  
This shóuldn't be happening. 

And yet, there it was.

Scarily familiar, scarily ... there.  
Scarily, obviously there every time he moved.

He didn't want to have to deal with it.

Not now. Not ever. Not again.  
Not after...  
Not after everything had been better!  
Had been good. Had been ... happy.  
But there was no denying it.

His. Leg. Hurt.

He had to deal, he had to figure out what to do.  
He had woken up at 6:30.  
Instantly awake. Instantly knowing what had woken him up.

It hadn't been too bad then.  
Just a hint of pain, an unease. An unease that he wanted to ignore.  
And he had been awake ever since, scared, and mad as hell.  
Wishing he would fall asleep and wake up with it gone again.

This was not happening!

But of course he couldn't just go back to sleep.  
It had gotten worse.

When he went to the bathroom at 7:15 to take a leak he couldn't walk normally.  
Walking made it worse too, so he quickly had gone back to bed.  
Panic creeping in, wondering if he should take painkillers or not.

Wondering if he still had some at home.  
Wishing he hadn't – somewhat ceremoniously – thrown his canes away after 8 months of freedom.

At 7:36 the first sharp muscle spasm had hit him.  
And then he knew.  
And he knew for sure.

* * *

Wilson knocked on the door.  
"House, are you there?" 

He tried again.  
"House, I know you're there, your bike is out front.""Open up."  
"Are you ok ?"

He paused, listened. Nothing.  
But House's walls and door were thick enough to not let much sound get through anyway.

He took a credit card out of his wallet.  
Feeling stupid. On TV this always worked...he looked around to see if someone was watching.  
Silly, it was not as if he was breaking in. Or was it ? What if House really wasn't home?  
But he had to make sure.

House was known for not answering his phone, but he always eventually answered if someone kept calling him.  
Now he had ignored 6 called from Wilson, and even more if he added Cuddy's.

He messed around with the credit card.  
It didn't work.  
Of course it didn't.

He started knocking on the door again. Louder.  
Banging.  
One of House's neighbors gave him a nasty look as he passed.  
Wilson asked him if he had seen House today ?  
The neighbor shrugged.  
"No."

"House! Open up, I know you're in there."  
He didn't really know, but short of breaking the door down he was running out of options.  
And then he heard a sound coming from inside.  
He tried the doorknob.  
Still locked, but the sound got closer.  
"House ?".

Softer, more hesitant now.

What if it was some burglar, ready to smash his skull in the moment he…  
The lock flicked, the door opened.

* * *

And there was House. Still dressed in his PJ's.  
Pale. Clammy. Leaning against the wall. Looking… looking very unwell.  
Wilson entered and closed the door behind him. 

"House..? Are you sick?  
Why didn't you call... ?"

House looked up at him. He was...crying ?

"What…did someone die? Who…?"

And then he took a step...and Wilson knew.

For two full minutes Wilson couldn't do anything.  
He couldn't speak, he couldn't move. He could only stare at House in disbelief.

"House ..."  
When he finally spoke his voice sounded strange. It was not his voice, so soft, hoarse, so far away.

House stood near the door, swaying on his legs.  
"Dizzy", he said.

Wilson reacted almost automatically , supporting House, letting him lean on him. Guiding him to the couch so he could lower himself onto it.

"Did you take something?" Wilson asked suddenly alerted.

He grabbed House by his wrists, checking the insides. Nothing.  
Stupid really, if he had cut his wrists there would have been blood.  
But an overdose of pills...

House too knew what Wilson meant.  
Not ... yet. I thought about it.

"I can't do this Jimmy, not again. I.."  
House just sat there, a miserable shaking heap of human, his head lowered.

"When... when did it start?"

"This morning."

"How bad is it ...?"

House shrugged. "What does it matter? It is... back."

"Rate it." Wilson wanted to know.

"…7". A choked up half whispered 7.

"Do you have any Vicodin here, do you need Vicodin now? Morphine? Anything?"  
Wilson switched thoughts. "No.. you need to go to hospital, you need…"  
God he knew what it was that House needed, and he could not give it to him.

"I can't do this again", was all House muttered.

He didn't even react to the word hospital, didn't even protest.  
This was bad.

This was really, very, bad.


	2. Chapter 2

_Virtual post-it sticky note :  
This chapter was written before we even knew who Tritter was, somewhere in between episode 1 and 3 – I just let it sit for a while to see if I was happy enough with it to put it up here …so not all is accurate (as if it would have been ;)) _

* * *

"You don't … you don't mind me taking you to hospital ?" Wilson asked. 

House half looked up.  
"No. I need to … I need morphine, I probably need an MRI. No ambulance, you drive."  
He paused, then added : "I need to make it through today…"

He had no idea how he was going to do all that.  
He didn't even know if he cared enough to _want_ to have an idea how he was going to do all that.

Wilson got his cell phone out of his coat pocket and punched in a speed dial number.

"Cuddy, I'm with House. The ketamine has worn off, we're coming in."  
A pause as Wilson listened, he glanced at House. "It's…not good."

He hung up. Cuddy had sounded as worried as he felt. How bad would this get?  
He wished he knew how to force House into not giving up, wished he knew how to make him snap out of it.  
But, first things first.

"Do you have any painkillers here?"

"Not in my bedroom, I looked. Maybe…" House motioned with his hand.

Wilson took it as permission to search the house.

He started with the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet and finding only paracetamol.  
That would definitely not do the job.

He opened a few desk and table drawers in the kitchen and the hall, nothing.   
House really had gotten rid of all the drugs like he said he had.  
He tried the closet, going through the coat pockets of several jackets, and at the far right he got lucky.  
He rattled it, and then held the orange bottle closer to his face, in the light,  
so he could read the expiration rate -still good – and counted about 4.

House stared at the 2 pills Wilson put in his hand and watched him going in to the kitchen.  
The sound of glass clinking and running water.  
Another lifetime ruled by pain and pills. He really couldn't…

Wilson returned, the glass in his left hand.  
It had been so long since he had seen his friend in as bad a shape as this.  
He thought back. The last time had probably been when Stacey had left.

He handed House the water.  
"Take both, we've got a car trip ahead of us."

House hesitated for a moment, then washed them down.  
The oh so familiar bitter chalky taste lingering in his mouth.  
He didn't want to look at Wilson and see whatever it was that he was feeling reflected in his eyes.

They sat in silence for a while. Both thinking and trying not to think, waiting.  
After a while Wilson noticed House relaxing a bit.

"Better?", he asked.

House nodded. The Vicodin was dulling the pain, it was not the fierce sharpness demanding all his attention anymore.  
It was easier to push it to the side now.

"I need to get changed, I'm not going in my PJs". He struggled to stand up.

Wilson almost let out a sigh of relief.  
Some determination was coming back, it wasn't a complete meltdown.. at least not yet.  
He too stood up.

"Do you have a cane somewhere?"

House shook his head.

Without asking, without forcing attention to it, Wilson helped House up and let him lean on his  
shoulder as they made it through the hallway to the bedroom.  
He could feel how little weight House could put on his leg before it gave.

He wondered what the MRI would look like.  
It shouldn't be this weak.

Not after all the rehab House had done, he had walked, run, jump…the muscle should be strong enough.  
Unless the pain, even with the Vicodin…

House sat on the bed as Wilson handed him some loose fitting pants and a clean T-shirt from the closet,  
then he left the room so House could change.

He pocketed the bottle with Vicodin and when House let him know he was ready to go,  
helped him into the car, handing House the pills before starting the car.

Wilson drove as carefully as he could, knowing that both the fact that House wasn't commenting on that  
along the lines of "grandma" as well as the deliberate breaths out were a sign of too much pain to talk.

So when he parked the car he wasn't too surprised when House didn't make too much of an effort to get out yet.

"Wheelchair?"

House nodded.  
"Unless you want to carry me over the bloody doorstep …" an attempt at a joke.  
"This whole walking thing is not going too well at the moment."

House reached in his pocket for the Vicodin.  
"Better not…", warned Wilson, "they will influence the PET scan, I think Cuddy wanted one done."

"She thinks I'm faking ?!", House grumble angrily.

"No, she wants to be sure the cause is the ketamine wearing off, and not something else."

House hesitated, then put the pills back. Wilson was right, and he wanted to know that himself as well.

"You'll be fine", Wilson walked away to get a wheelchair.

Inside they were met by nurse Brenda.  
"Cuddy is waiting for you upstairs."

And indeed Cuddy was right there when the elevator doors opened.  
She took one worried glance at House and said : "MRI, PET scan, blood work …"

House interrupted her.  
One thing at a time was enough to deal with, the prospect of more hours without pain relief was not something he wanted to think about.

"I'm getting the royal treatment, uh?"

"You wish".  
Cuddy managed a grin.


	3. Chapter 3

_And here is Chapter 3 !_

_  
I hope you enjoy this. I've thought up a medical case that should be interesting enough.  
( I hope. I am doing tons of research.).  
So I am slowly feeding you some information on that, trying to give House and his  
returning pain problem a similar amount of attention at the same time.  
_

_With thanks a certain University that puts it's lectures online as podcasts !  
(Drop me a line if you want to know which one . They're great and free.)  
If by some turn of fate someone reading this is taking the course, I hope they recognise it from my description._

_Sorry, no "funny" parts here ( not intentionally anyway) - just House being stubborn.  
_

_Enough of me rambling._

_Read on._

* * *

Larissa was sitting in the lecture hall. Introduction to Human Nutrition.  
She actually enjoyed this class very much.

The professor was a slightly quirky woman, who seemed a bit clumsy and at times laughed at her own jokes harder than anyone else.  
But she did know what she was talking about. The subject was interesting, and she obviously loved talking about it.

She quickly scribbled on, taking notes.

_Baby's don't have an adequate amount of acid in their stomach yet, so they cannot kill off the botulism that is naturally present in honey. Therefore you should never give a baby honey.  
Sucrose is fifty percent glucose and fifty percent fructose.  
Corn starch is extremely high in fructose.  
The body makes glycogen from glucose…_

She paused, her hand felt weird, weak, even a little painful.  
She flexed her fingers a bit. Probably all the note-taking she had been doing lately.

Man, she would be so glad when in a few hours she and three of her friends would leave for a four day trip to New Jersey !   
Hopefully she would feel less tired after breathing some fresh air for a while. It had been too long since they went.  
She counted back. Over two months! Camping, hiking...

But there was no time to think about that yet.  
She quickly glanced at her neighbours notes, copied some, and started paying attention to what was being said again.

_The body can only store about 3000 Kcal in glycogen, but in can store an unlimited amount in fat.  
The glycogen that is stored in the liver is used by the brain and the nervous system.  
The muscles have their own storage system_

The professor went on talking about the molecular structure of fatty acids, lipids, cholesterol and cell membranes.

2 and a half hours later she had tossed her notes on her desk, taken a quick shower and checked if Beth hadn't forgotten to put the air mattress pump in the trunk of the car.

* * *

Cuddy shot a sideways glance at Wilson who was standing next to her.

House's PET scan was lighting up like a Christmas tree showing bright red and yellow in the  
areas of his brain where pain perception was located.

"We need to get him on some pain medication now."

Wilson nodded.

"From what I could see the MRI also showed some darker grey parts of muscle that weren't on the last one.  
For some reason there is less blood reaching whatever muscle he has left there than before.  
And there also were some brighter parts that indicated muscle fibre damage and the start of some mild inflammation.  
I will have to go back and compare them later, but for now. It's not good, but it does explain the pain."

He bent forward and pushed the intercom button.

"House, are you still hanging in there?"

A pause, then House replied.

"Affirmative."

"We're letting you out again now."

Wilson and Cuddy walked into the room on the other side of the glass, and stopped next to the MRI machine as the table House was laying on slided out again. Ashen faced and clutching the sides of the table with white knuckles.

"Stop looking at me like that, help me up."  
Cuddy and Wilson slowly and carefully helped House off the table back into the wheelchair.

"I'm admitting you." Cuddy informed him, in a tone that made it clear she did not want to hear any objections.

"So I was right…", muttered House.

"We'll put you on a morphine drip so you can get some sleep now... I'm sorry House."

House nodded. He felt drained, suddenly had no energy left to even talk.  
He let Wilson push him to the neurology ward where it didn't take too long before the morphine slowed his breathing, his heart beat.  
He closed his eyes as darkness enveloped his brain and the pain finally lessened.

* * *

House woke up, his morphine intoxicated sluggish brain not instantly knowing where it was, where he was.

Hospital. 7:30 am.

Slowly consciousness gained ground and he remembered that from now on it again wouldn't be sounds that woke him up in the morning but the pain his leg.

Only it didn't really hurt as much as he knew it should.  
Drugs. Morphine. IV stand.

He carefully rolled on his side to adjust his morphine a little.  
He grunted as he reached for the button. He needed to clear his head.

He'd have to get used to the pain again, but slowly – on his own terms.

"Good morning."

House looked up in surprise. There was a young girl in the bed next to him.  
Had she been there yesterday as well? He couldn't remember.

"Hi."

He slowly rolled back on his back, clenching his jaw, knowing the pain would only get worse.

"I'm Larissa."

House didn't answer.  
He kept his eyes on the clock and lowered the titration every hour, if he had adjusted to the new pain level by that time.

Breakfast trays were brought in.  
House wasn't hungry, but the girl seemed to have a pretty good appetite.

A nurse came to check on the girl.  
She wrote something on her chart and moved on to House.

"Are you OK? Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." House grunted.

She had seen he was in pain the minute she entered the room, but when she reached for the IV to up his morphine House stopped her.

"Don't do that."

The nurse shot him a puzzled look, then left the room.  
Only to return minutes later with a white coat.

Dr. Vester.  
The neurologist.

"Dr. House! Cuddy told me you were here.  
Nurse Clemens is telling me you refuse pain management?"

"I am _managing_ my own pain."

"But…"

House interrupted him.  
"Do you have my MRI here? I want to see it."

Vester blinked.  
House was well know by reputation throughout the whole hospital, but he had never actually met him.  
What they said about him turned out to be true.

He picked up a file from the tray he had dragged along with him into the room and looked at the MRI.

"Severe muscle damage from previously existing condition, some small changes compared to the previous…"

House got impatient.  
"Give me, I can't see from here."

Dr. Vester handed him the file and House held them up to the brightest light source in the room, looking at them.

"Thought so…"  
He put he MRIs on his bed and Vester picked them up again.

"We need to do some further tests later today, to make sure…"

"No we don't. It's not getting worse. I'm discharging myself as soon as I am off this drip. I need to get back to work."

Larissa gazed at House as a perplexed Dr. Vester turned and walked out.  
"I'm calling Cuddy."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4._

_I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry for not updating more often.  
I'm just not a very fast writer and I want to think out things first – go over all possibilities and then pick the one I think is best.  
The downside being that I don't often have the time to do all that.  
_

_I really like reading the comments and suggestions so if you read please review or fav. - thanks!!  
_

* * *

Ten minutes later it appeared that he had not only called Cuddy, but Wilson as well. Or Cuddy called Wilson.  
It didn't matter, they were there. 

They both followed Vester in, hiding their shock and hesitation about seeing House after last night, about how bad he looked.  
Yet even looking - and probably feeling - as bad as he did, House did not look as vulnerable as he had the night before.

"What are you doing?" Cuddy demanded to know, clearly trying to pull rank in front of Dr. Vester to show him she could handle House.   
"Dr. Vester told me you wouldn't let the nurse set your IV?"

She didn't really sound that surprised, House thought, as he responded,  
" I am gradually decreasing my morphine so I can get back on Vicodin and back to work. Any objections, ... boss?"

Cuddy stared at him.  
"Work?", she stammered, watching House roll his eyes at her.  
Vester hadn't mentioned thàt part!

Not that House was in any shape to work, but she could see he was dead serious.

Cuddy glanced at the IV, unconsciously checking how much he had managed to decrease it already.  
Almost half of what they started with last night.  
Impressive considering the amount of pain he had been in, but probably not as fast as he would like it to go.

She gathered her thoughts.   
"Dr. Vester also told me you are refusing to have any more tests done?"

House nodded. "I know what's wrong, and it won't get worse."

Dr. Vester's jaw dropped, "Er...mind filling me in on that diagnosis?"

* * *

House took a breath, "Two weeks ago my leg hurt. The ketamine was slowly wearing off.  
I knew, but everyone kept telling me I was imagining it. Everyone kept telling me it was normal to feel a little pain while recovering." 

"So?", Dr Vester asked.

"So I believed them."

House was about to - somewhat smugly because he had been right - prop himself up a little higher,  
but as he did so the sudden fierceness of the pain in his leg took his breath and the start of a grin away.  
He tensed, closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside as Cuddy let out a soft "House" that  
didn't disguise how worried she really was about him.

House opened his eyes again when the pain had subsided a little.  
He gave up on trying to slide up in the bed and, ignoring Cuddy, continued talking.

"I pushed through the pain, thinking they all could be right. That maybe it could just be old age.  
Wilson even ended up prescribing me Vicodin again so I could do the rehab.  
What you see on the MRI is the result of that, it looks like I've done some damage.  
Take another MRI in a few weeks if you want but that's the only test you'll get. It might heal fast, it might heal slow, but it won't get worse."

Dr. Vester stared at House , "You walked on this?!"

Cuddy pulled herself together, "He ran ..."  
She looked and sounded as guilty as she felt. She knew House knew she had had a big part in it.

She swallowed and then turned to Vester.  
"Look, he knows what he's doing. Let him deal with the drip, it's no use fighting him on this."

"Fine", Dr. Vester shrugged, slightly embarrassed and not at all happy that he had neglected to even ask House if overexertion was a possible cause,  
because he had assumed any exertion at all would have been impossible - considering what he had seen on the MRI.  
He gave House a curt nod, and started walking away.

House realized he had been tensing up when he felt himself relax a little. He had won this battle.

Cuddy looked at House, not sure if she should talk to him or leave. "Are you OK?"

House too hesitated for just a second, but then nodded. "I will be."  
Cuddy gave him a smile and left the room.

* * *

Finally Wilson spoke.  
"House, I'm sorry." 

When House didn't react he tried again.  
"House, I'm sorry, I should have believed you in stead of making you prove it."

"Yeah, well, I don't think you will get a second chance,"House sounded bitter,  
" because chances of the ketamine working a second time are quite slim, even if I can find someone to approve it."

Wilson was silent for a moment, going over a few possible things to say in his head,  
and then finally deciding to go with the thing that would let House know that he would be there for him if he wanted him to.  
"You can do this House, I've seen you do it before."

House gave him a wry smile.  
"That's the problem," he muttered, "this time I know what's coming…"

Wilson saw some of the despair shining through in House's eyes.  
The same despair he had seen the night before.

But this was not the time or place to really talk about it, he knew House was exhausted. From fighting the pain, and from talking to them.  
"You can, House, and you will. I'll let you rest for a while now, I will be back later, OK?"

House nodded.

* * *

With everyone gone again, House laid back, closing his eyes, dozing off for a while. But a few minutes later he jerked awake when  
a loud clanking sound came from his left. 

"I'm sorry", Larissa said, as she stood next to her bed, "I didn't mean to wake you up,"  
She bent forward and picked up the cup that had fallen off the nightstand when she had bumped into it.

The man was now watching her. God, the last thing she needed was an audience…  
"Are you really a doctor?", she asked him, trying to distract him.  
The man nodded, but still looked at her, she sighed. On with the show then, if he really was a doctor he had probably seen far stranger things.  
Slightly embarrassed she took a few steps forward. Yup, her legs still felt strange, and it was really hard to move them. She took a few wobbly steps forward, .

"Did they tell you you were allowed to get out of bed?", the man asked her.

"No, but they didn't tell me not to. And I kinda need to.. go..".  
She motioned at the bathroom at the end of the room. "It's not too far…"

She decided to ignore him and focused on making it to the bathroom.  
She probably wasn't going to fall down, but the more she walked the harder it would get.

On her way back from the bathroom as she predicted it was even harder to walk. She glanced to her left.  
The man had managed to half roll onto his left side, and he was still watching – no, observing - her.

"Do you always walk that funny?"

She shot an angry glance at him, "No!"

He raised his eyebrows, "Any pain?"

She ignored him as she struggled to climb back in bed, then decided to answer his question, "No pain."

"You're lucky."  
The man looked at her for a little longer, then slowly rolled back on his back and closed his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

_Another update! I'm working on 2 other stories but I will upload them in neat 4-day intervals or something when I'm done with them so that there won't be such huge gaps in between updates. Well, actually one is a new one, the other one is " We fall down…" so thanks for all your patience._

_As for the medical stuff here, Larissa's case is real, as is April's and for House I googled for hours, but I'm not a pharmacist so I don't know if the mix" of drugs I'm giving him would be allowed ;) They're all pretty effective (nerve-)pain killers that are stronger than Vicodin (and morphine , but I don't know if that goes for IV morphine as well) ._

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Foreman, Cameron and Chase were in the whiteboard room, sitting at the table, going through files with a stack of medical textbooks in front of them.  
After a short moment of silence Cameron sighed, closed the file and looked at her colleagues.  
"House is late. Again."

Chase shrugged, "It's not as if these cases are so complicated we can't handle them on our own".  
He sounded quite bored and frustrated.   
"This guy's got a simple infection, antibiotics will fix him, and I really don't know why we even get these cases."

But Foreman sat up a little straighter, "I think I might have something here."

And then Cuddy walked in.

Foreman turned to her, "House isn't in yet."

Cuddy nodded, looking serious and sad.  
"The ketamine's worn off, we admitted him yesterday…"

All three of them started at her, clearly in shock.

Cameron was the first one to speak. "How is he?"

"He's in a lot of pain…" Her mind wandered back to last night and this morning.

"Damn….", Foreman sighed, "he'll be right back where he started before the ketamine?"

Cuddy nodded.  
"He…yes."  
"Do you have a case?"

Foreman showed her the file he has in his hand.  
"19-year-old female. Rash, fever, and retaining fluids. Could be something interesting."

"Right", Cuddy said still slightly distracted.  
"Well, for now I'll be taking over from House, she turned to leave and then added, "run some tests."

They all got up, Chase joined Foreman to go stick a few needles in their patient, and Cameron announced that she would first check on House and then join them later.

* * *

Foreman and Chase walked into April's room and noticed that she had quite a big abrasion on the side of her face.  
Which was pale with a crimson blush - she obviously had a fever as well. 

As Foreman prepared to draw some blood, Chase examined the rash.   
It was only on her extremities, there was nothing on her face or torso.

She did say she had a bit of a headache, but the blotches were faint reddish.  
Luckily nothing like the rash that was so characteristic for meningitis, where you couldn't make them disappear with a glass.  
And although April seemed quite tired and unwell, she wasn't nearly as sick as she would have been if it would be meningitis.

He pressed a finger into April's foot and it took a while before the dent was gone.  
Definitely retaining fluids, maybe something with her kidneys?

* * *

Cameron walked into House's room.  
The girl in the bed next to him was just being wheeled out in a wheelchair. Probably on her way to have some tests done, she thought. 

She hesitantly walked up to House's bed only to find out that he was asleep. She looked at him for a while.  
It was not a calm and peaceful sleep; even with the morphine dripping steadily into his veins he looked tortured and tired.  
It almost physically hurt hèr to see him like this, knowing he had lost everything all over again.  
She decided she would come back later.

* * *

She walked to the elevator and joined Foreman and Chase in April's room.  
Her boyfriend Tim had arrived as well, bringing with him a bag of clothes and some magazines for her to read. He seemed like a good guy. 

Chase and Foreman were just leaving the room as she came in, already done with drawing blood.

Because Cameron didn't want to appear to have entered the room for nothing she asked Tim to give them a moment.   
As he left the room as well, Cameron gestured at the abrasion and asked April, "So, what happened?"

April took a breath. "Well, I woke up this morning, and I wasn't really feeling well. Tim - that's my boyfriend - had already gone downstairs.  
So I got up and noticed that my arms and legs were twice their normal size. It was quite uncomfortable to move them and walk.  
And I saw had all these red spots and blotches …"

April gestured at her arms and legs.

"So I started to panic a little and I sort of stumbled downstairs and I told Tim that I had all these spots. And then I told him everything was getting black."

She grinned.

"So, just as he bent forward to take a closer look at those red spots to see if they were turning black, I fainted.  
I did see the wall coming a little too close and half managed to push myself off.  
That is, after my face connected with it."

She smiled and motioned at her cheek.

"And then I think I fell straight backwards. Hit my head on the tiles, which woke me up again instantly. I wasn't out for longer than a few seconds."

She added with a grin, "I'm kinda pissed he didn't catch me."

Cameron laughed, then gave her a quick exam.   
Shone a penlight in her eyes, and concluded that she didn't have a concussion from the fall, but that the headache might be caused by it.  
There was quite a bump on the back of her head.

After that she went to join Foreman and Chase in the lab.

* * *

House woke up again when a nurse brought Larissa back into the room. 

He lowered his morphine again and when he had his breathing somewhat under control and was able to focus on something else than the pain   
he did some quick calculations.

He almost smiled, he had done it.  
If he could stay on this dose of morphine for a while, he would be OK. One step at a time.

On hour later he pressed the button that called a nurse and told her he wanted to replace the drip with Fentanyl patches.  
She raised her eyebrows and told him she would page Dr. Vester.  
God, not this again… House thought, but he had no choice but to wait for the man to come down to talk to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

_ //It took quite some googling to figure out how to slowly lower House's dosage. I'm obviously not a pharmacist, so I hope I'm not ODing him ;)_

_ If anyone with some proper medical knowledge could let me know what kind of virus could probably cause April's symptoms I'd be very grateful (I only know it takes over two weeks to feel better, rest of the info in the fic is accurate)._

* * *

Vester walked into the room, but first stopped in front of Larissa's bed.  
"Feeling any better?" 

Larissa shrugged, "Pretty much the same, did the tests show anything?"

Vester shook his head, "We haven't got the results back yet".  
He took Larissa's file from the foot end of the bed, wrote something down, gave Larissa a curt nod and walked up to House.

He looked at the IV, "Down to 40mg?"  
House nodded, "I want to switch to Fentanyl patches. 75 mcg should do."

Vester thought for a few seconds, "How long have you been on 40?"

"Over an hour".

Vester pretended to look at House's chart as he considered following the standard series of questions, but in the end he decided it was much better to just give the man what he asked for right away.

"Fine, I'll have a nurse bring you one. I'll prescribe 5mg Vicodin tablets for breakthrough pain, but I'll page Turner so he can have a talk with you.  
House nodded, he recognized the name; Dr. Turner was the pain specialist.

* * *

And so it was that 15 minutes later a nurse routinely pulled the IV needle out of House's hand after which she handed him a Fentanyl patch.  
"This should last you 3 days. You should apply it on a dry piece of skin that..."  
House interrupted her, "Are you going to continue with the precautions too? Because I'm not pregnant and I'm not eating something containing St. John's wort anytime soon either." 

Slightly offended (and righteously so) the nurse turned around and walked out of the room.

House stuck the patch on his upper arm and laid back in bed hoping the nausea caused by the morphine would go away soon so that he could try and eat something. He would need all the energy he could get.

* * *

2 hours later Chase looked up from his microscope and grumbled:  
"So much for having a case, it's just a virus. We ran all the other tests for nothing.  
There's nothing we can do. Let's send April home." 

All three of them walked into April's room (the "all three" part being a clear indicator of " we have no other cases").  
They told her she would be a little uncomfortable moving around for as long as the fluid retention would be there, but the fever and rash should go soon enough.

"Let's find Cuddy", Chase suggested. Foreman nodded in agreement, but Cameron wanted to pay House a visit.  
Foreman and Chase nodded and said they would catch up with her.

* * *

The minutes in between the morphine wearing off and the Fentanyl kicking in were hell.  
House thought he knew the way his body dealt with pain and drugs, he thought he could get through it without the added Vicodin.  
Instead he found himself clenching his teeth trying not to scream.  
He took the Vicodin, but too late.  
And when the nausea instead of lessening only got worse (the lessening because he was off the morphine counteracted by the increase caused by the pain – it was a different kind of nausea, but the end result was the same) he pressed the button and waited for a nurse to bring him something to throw up in. Which of course made taking oral meds pointless. 

But as time passed he slowly felt better; the Fentanyl was working, and the nausea was gone so he could keep the Vicodin down.  
He sat up a little straighter in the bed. No problems there this time.  
He proceeded to push the sheets back and very carefully maneuvered both legs over the edge, helping his right leg along with his hands, until he was sitting on the edge of his bed.  
He knew there was no way he could put any weight on his leg, and he was glad to see the wheelchair that was standing against the wall in between the two beds.  
He slowly let himself slide down to the ground, balancing on his left foot and holding on to the lowered bed rail.

* * *

Larissa noticed the man beside her was sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge. One leg obviously hurt him a lot.  
She had heard the discussion about painkillers, she had heard him muffling moans and she could see he had trouble moving it.  
When he got out of the bed he kept his right foot off the ground.  
He seemed to be unsteady on his feet for a while, pain showing on his face.  
But then he took a few breaths and – holding on to the bed, the bedside table and the wall, gingery hopped to a wheelchair. He didn't look back at her, but where House had openly been observing her, Larissa felt increasingly guilty and intrusive by watching him.  
So when he, quite inelegantly, lowered himself onto the seat of the wheelchair with a loud thud and a grimace, she turned around and looked away again.

* * *

House helped his right foot on the footrest and felt himself relax a little again. 

He made it so far, but he still had a long way to go.  
Let's start with the most urgent; what goes in must come out, and he hated hospital gowns.

He grabbed the clothes he had arrived in off the shelf in the nightstand, put them in his lap and wheeled to the bathroom.

* * *

Larissa heard the toilet flushing, but it took a very long time for the man to emerge from the bathroom again. She had started to worry something had happened, she wondered if she should call a nurse. She let out a sigh of relief when he reappeared in sweatpants and a T-shirt. 

He noticed her looking at him, and because she felt she should say something, she said the first thing that came to mind.

"So, do you always walk this funny?"

House half grinned, appreciating the comeback even though it was over an hour later.  
" No, I usually have a cane."

"Oh…"  
Larissa felt stupid and embarrassed.  
This wasn't exactly something you asked someone with a permanent disability…  
"I'm s… Hey!"  
The man had wheeled up to her, and grabbed her file off the foot end of the bed.  
"You can't just read that!"


	7. Chapter 7

_It's taking quite long, but I am still working on this.  
_

* * *

House ignored her protests and took his time reading her file, starting to wonder how on earth Vester got his medical license.  
When he was done he put the file back, and wheeled to his own bed.  
Reverse process, put the brakes on, push himself to a standing position. Balance on one leg and sit down on the edge of the bed.  
Slowly lift the bad leg up with his hands (not too slowly though - pausing halfway was not a good idea), then lean back - inwardly grumbling about how draining such a simple task was. 

House requested, and after 10 minutes got, Vicodin 750 for the breakthrough pain he was getting, and then both Larissa and House slept for a few hours after lunch, until visiting hours.

* * *

Larissa's friends were 15 minutes early, but the nurses were lenient and had let them into the room. They had brought flowers and chocolate, and told stories about their camping trip. Filling the room with busy energy. 

"We are so sad you can't be there! We are having a great time, we went rafting and the guide was this really hot guy. Beth fell out of the boat.  
We think it was on purpose, because he had to rescue her"

House eavesdropped some more, listening to Beth defending herself, claiming she nearly drowned.  
Observing Larissa who still seemed to have a bit of a headache, but enjoyed the company of her friends.

The pain was getting easier to deal with, he could move his leg a bit better.  
He wasn't sure if it was just him getting used to that level of pain, or the Fentanyl and Vicodin mix kicking in.  
It didn't really matter of course, as long as it was getting better. Although he didn't want to admit it, for a good couple of hours  
he had been scared this time the pain would be too much to go back to Vicodin and cane, he had been scared he would not walk again.

* * *

House waited for Larissa's friends to leave again, and for her to fall asleep.  
Then he took a Vicodin, pressed the call button and requested a pair of elbow crutches from the nurse. 

House smiled as he concluded that the nurses must have given up on first consulting Vester, because she quickly came back with two metallic dark blue elbow crutches.

House gave the nurse a fake but charming smile, "Aw, you shouldn't have!"  
"Don't flatter yourself. You didn't want the regular ones, and this was the only color we had.  
Do you want me to stay around for whatever you are planning to do with these?"  
House wiggled his eyebrows, hinting at something sexual, but then denied the offer with a lighthearted "No, but thanks for the offer".

After all things might not work according to plan, in which case he'd need her to pick him off the floor and administer  
whatever nearby pain-relief acted fastest.

The nurse looked mildly disgusted but also mildly amused, and walked out leaving the crutches within House's reach.

House again lowered himself to the floor, quicker this time, less grunting and jaw clenching involved too. Good.  
He got the crutches, spent a few minutes adjusting the height, and took a few tentative steps towards Larissa's bed.

Not quite there yet.  
A few paces was OK, but keeping his right foot off the floor caused too much pain in the already hurting muscles that now were forced to contract.

He grabbed Larissa's file, pressed that and the pad he got off her night stand under his arm, put a pen from  
the same night stand in his mouth and crutched back to his bed.

He rubbed his leg and was relieved to find that, as soon as he rested his leg the pain went back to the level where Fentanyl and Vicodin could handle it. He read Larissa's file again, using the notepad to occasionally write something important down.  
Only looking up when a familiar voice sounded.

* * *

"House...hi. 

Cameron, Foreman and Chase came walking up to him, Cameron was the one talking.  
"I'm,... we're sorry about your l.

House cut her off. "Any cases"

Cameron blinked, but Chase just answered the question.  
"Nothing interesting. Female with a rash on her extremities, combined with fever and fainting, but it was just a virus, a man with appendicitis"

House cut him off too.  
"Good to hear you haven't killed anyone yet"

Foreman took a step forward, " House, I'm sorry the ketamine didn't last"  
House briefly looked him straight in his eyes, then looked away.  
He was not ready to talk about it, and he was not ever willing to talk about it with Foreman.  
Or Chase or Cameron for that matter.

"I've got an interesting case.  
He motioned with his thumb to Larissa who was still asleep and handed Foreman Larissa's file.  
"Read up, copy the file and give me the original back. Report back to me tomorrow, all three of you. Maybe find out if her MRI results are back first"

Foreman glanced at the file, then handed it to Cameron.  
"You're working on a case? Now? But..."  
A look of House shut him up.

"Says here she's getting a psych consult in the morning?", Cameron asked.

"Vester is an idiot"

* * *

After they left, House put his notes to the side and dozed off for a while.  
He had dinner with Wilson, who gave him Larissa's file back without asking any questions  
and made a joke about House looking quite good for a coma guy. 

Cuddy came to say goodnight when she left for home.

* * *

House woke up a few times during the night, used the wheelchair to go to the bathroom, and fell asleep again after taking more Vicodin. 

Wilson brought him some clean clothes when he came in the next morning just before breakfast.  
He didn't stay long, and after he left House got dressed and sat on top of the sheets with a couple of pillows in his back and one under his right knee. Reading his notes, thinking.

Cuddy came to check on him just as nurses were getting ready to take Larissa up to the 6th floor for a psych consult Vester ordered.  
Complaining about a missing chart.  
Everyone looked at House who made an innocent face as he hid it under the sheets.

"I want this case", House said to Cuddy.   
"Vester is a lazy son of a bitch who tries to do the least amount of work while still getting his patient out of hospital,  
or at least out of his sight, as fast as possible. This girl doesn't need a shrink"

"I'm not sure Vester would appreciate me handing his case to you," Cuddy said sarcastically.

"My team's already on it." House argued.

Cuddy thought for a moment. "You really think he's that wrong"

"Yes"  
House pushed the sheets back, slid to the ground and sat down on a chair.

"What are you doing..?!"

"I'm going to work. You can't deny me my case when I'm working on it, in stead of just laying around here boring myself to death.  
I'm discharging myself"

House put his left sneaker on and reached for the crutches.   
He intentionally left the right shoe off, knowing the added weight wouldn't do his leg any good.

Cuddy followed him, perplexed, as he started heading towards the door.   
Although it went better than the day before, he still needed to regularly put his foot down to give the muscles a rest and wait for the pain to lessen.

At the end of the hallway House's tempo had slowed considerably, he had stopped for a break 2 times,  
and while they waited for the elevator to arrive Cuddy put a hand on his arm.

"House. You're in no shape to get back to work"

House turned his head and looked at her.

"You can not overexert your leg again... You..."

House looked at Cuddy.  
"Look, I'm not even putting any wait on it"

Cuddy raised an eyebrow.

"Fine.  
Maybe you're right and I'm not ready yet, but... I need to do this. It's..."

The elevator door opened, and House crutched in.  
Cuddy followed.

As the door closed House finished his sentence.  
"There's nothing else I can do to keep my mind off... besides, it will cost the hospital less if I'm not occupying a bed.  
You should be happy I'm making your job easy"

Cuddy looked away from him.  
Knowing she got a glimpse of what House really was thinking and feeling.  
Followed of course by one of his standard avoidances.

"All right. Just don't push it"

The elevator doors opened, and House crutched out leaving Cuddy behind as she added:  
"And no clinic duty until you're back to walking with the cane.  
Don't want to scare the patients away because their doctor is sicker than they are."

* * *

House grinned and slowly crutched into the whiteboard room, sinking down on the nearest chair as all three members of his team  
looked at him in amazement. 

"What are you doing here? I thought we were coming to your room?", Cameron asked.

"Discharged," House said, as he pulled a second chair close and gently lifted his right foot on it.  
Uncomfortably shifting around, trying to find the position that resulted in the least amount of pain.

Chase peered at him.  
"Discharged by whom?"

House ignored him, Mentally cursing himself for teaching him too well.

Cameron looked at House, concerned, and then she walked out of the whiteboard room and reappeared with a pillow.  
She dragged another chair closer.

"Lift", she commanded.  
Knowing asking if he wanted any help would be a bad move, but just offering it would probably be appreciated.   
The first sent the "you're helpless and pathetic" message, the second said " I care".

Cameron put the extra chair with the pillow on top of it underneath House's right knee, and watched as he grimacingly settled in and relaxed a little.  
She nodded and sat down again, as House cleared his throat:  
"So what's with our case?"

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8.

Foreman hesitated, but when Chase stood up, walked to the whiteboard and grabbed the marker he started summarizing what he read in the file.

"24-year-old female.  
She went on a hike during a camping trip and suddenly had trouble walking, and it gradually got worse.  
She had a fever when she came in but it's gone now, occasionally has swollen glands in her neck and what she describes as  
strange sensations in both her arms and legs"  
Chase wrote everything down on the whiteboard.

"Headaches", House said, looking at Chase who added that to the list, then House turned to Foreman.  
"Get her an MRI, check her reflexes... Make her walk, it's quite spectacular really, looks like there's a good chance it's something neurological.  
You two - go run tests for the obvious. MS, and any other demyelinating diseases you can think of. I'll be in my office"

Cameron and Chase left, but Foreman stayed behind.  
Following House as he lifted his leg off the two chairs, got to his feet (or, well, foot) and slowly crutched to the corduroy ottoman chair in his office.  
He dropped the crutches and sank down onto the chair, putting both feet on the footrest.  
Foreman backtracked, picked up the pillow and all files, and stopping next to House.  
He dumped the files on the floor next to him, and then moved to shove the pillow under his knee.

"Not yet," House protectively held his right hand between Foreman and his leg, eyes closed, jaw clenched shut, breathing labored.

Foreman paused, hesitated, then asked; "Are you sure you should be here"

House waited until he was surer that his brain would actually form and let out words, not a variety of moans and groans, when he opened his mouth.

Then he looked at Foreman, pointed at his leg: "leg", and pointed at his head: "brain.  
"Now, which one do you think does the thinking?  
And I know I'm forgetting another part of the male anatomy that is commonly associated with thinking, but I'm pretty sure it's not my leg trying to remember the word for that"

"Sorry I asked." Foreman said slightly offended. Then a bit gentler: "Ready now"  
House nodded curtly. Before Foreman walked out he also put House's iPod and PSP next to him on the floor.

* * *

House's phone rang and he jerked awake.He had fallen asleep in the ottoman chair with the files in his lap.  
Walking on crutches, going back to work so fast and being in pain draining him of all his energy. 

He rubbed his leg and took a Vicodin, not even attempting to answer the phone since surely by the time he managed to get to it,  
it would have stopped ringing.  
In stead he put the files on the floor, picked up the iPod and put on his headphones, trying to doze off again.

15 minutes later someone tapped on his shoulder.  
He opened his eyes and saw Cameron and Chase standing in font of him.

He shoved the headphones back. "Figured it out yet"

"No...," Cameron replied, "Not yet. But she's now complaining about sore muscles in her legs"  
Before she could continue, another doctor walked into House's office.

"I've been looking for you dr. House. I'm doctor Turner, Vester called me for a consult. You weren't in your room." He sounded accusingly.

"Er, we'll come back later." Cameron said. She pushed Chase out the door, and followed him into the whiteboard room.

"Discharged," House looked at Turner.

"Well, I still want to discuss pain management with you.  
Cuddy warned me you might refuse or not cooperate fully, and told me she'd re-admit you if you do. And I need to take a look at your leg as well"

House grumbled, damn Cuddy for seeing right through him.  
He had planned to talk to Turner, once, and for 5 minutes tops.  
Now he had no choice but go along.

"Vester's got the scans, look at those"

"I've seen the scans. I've read your file. But how do you expect me to prescribe without an examination"

"It's not that hard, I do it all the time"  
Turner blinked at the unexpected answer, but quickly regained his composure. "Where's the nearest exam room"

House sighed, looked at Cameron and Chase in the whiteboard room, hoping they would come back in with something urgent.  
They didn't.  
"Just close the blinds, I'm not that mobile yet"

Turner again blinked, but then closed the blinds as House - glad the Vicodin was kicking in - stood up and  
balancing on one leg dropped his jeans and hopped out of them. Holding on to the back of the chair for support.

Turner kneeled next to House, quickly but carefully prodded and poked a little making sure he didn't cause too much pain  
while still getting all the information he wanted.  
Asking House to bend his knee, then allowing him to put his jeans back on and sit down again before he tested the patellar reflex (none, as expected),  
and helped House prop his leg back on the pillow as he continued with some questions.

How much he usually could walk before needing to take the weight off, how much weight he could put on the leg before it gave,  
if that had improved over the years, .

"I understand you're on Fentanyl 75 and Vicodin 750 now?"

House nodded.

"How's that working"

House hesitated, "Good enough as long as I don't move"

Turner thought for a while.  
"And we're trying to get back to Vicodin 500 right?"  
House nodded again.

"Have you tried gabapentin, tramadol, cox-2, amitriptyline, PT, TENS"

"Yes except for TENS. Neither work as good as Vicodin, some don't work at all. PT and massage only work for a very short time"

Turner nodded.  
"I'll discuss this with a colleague of mine, but for now I think you're right that the main focus shoud be trying to get back  
to where you were before the relapse. After that we can see if there are alternatives to Vicodin that will give the  
same amount of pain relief. Maybe even more"

Bloody optimist. House thought. But he was glad he didn't have to fight Turner on this.

Turner left, after House reminded him to make sure to tell Cuddy he'd been a good boy.

Chase, Cameron and Foreman walked into his office.

Chase raised his eyebrows and looked at Turner leaving, then at House.  
" What, didn't you see Brokeback Mountain?", House asked.  
Chase turned a nice shade of crimson but was rescued further embarrassment by Foreman who spoke up.

"I just did the MRI, there were some hotspots in her brain. It looks like she's got meningitis, or maybe an infection there?"


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm still alive :) ! Sorry it's taking so long, you might want to start at the beginning,  
but I've got the next chapter already thought out so the next update will be faster._

* * *

House thought for a while. "What about the MS"  
"The results are not back yet", Foreman replied, but it's not Lupus, negative ANA.  
"If it's not MS either, do an LP, and in the meantime test her blood and stool for parasites and stuff"  
As the three left his office, House leaned back and closed his eyes.  
But before he could fall asleep again, a familiar voice came from his left.  
"House, are you awake?" 

Wilson.

House opened his eyes, "I am now".  
"How's your patient?"  
House didn't immediately answer, and Wilson had notice the strained look on his face from the moment he walked in.  
"They're running tests." House finally grunted.

Wilson nodded, then carefully asked, "Do you want me to re-admit you"  
House shot him an angry glare, "What are you"  
Wilson interrupted him. "Don't say you're fine, I can see you're not. You won't make it to 5, or ...4. Not today"  
House stared at him for a while.  
"Fine. You can take me home". House muttered.

Defeat, he thought. Not as much defeat as being re-admitted would be, but defeat nonetheless. Too much, too fast. Only one option left; go home and try to get the day over with. Preferably asleep and not consciously living it.

"Want me to get a wheelchair?", Wilson asked.  
"No. I can sit in the car.

* * *

They slowly made their way to the elevators, where House half-leaned half-slumped against the wall. 

10 minutes later a white-faced House sat on the passenger seat as Wilson threw the crutches on the backseats and drove off without saying anything. It didn't take long for House to fall asleep, but even then he didn't visibly relax.  
Wilson regretted having to wake him up when they arrived at House's apartment.  
He gently nudged House's arm. "Hey, we're here"

Wilson got out of the car, got House's crutches and walked around to open the car door for him.  
House hissed as he crutched up the two small steps in front of his house, and went straight to his bedroom.  
"No drinks and TiVo'd monstertrucks?" Wilson asked as he followed him through the narrow hallway.

No reply.

"Do you...want me to go?"

House stopped walking and let his foot lightly rest on the floor. "Who said anything about no drinks"  
"Well, I.." Wilson motioned to the living room couch.  
"If I sit down I'm not sure I'm getting up again, and I don't want to sleep on the couch tonight"  
He dropped himself on the bed, took a Vicodin and started rubbing his leg.

Wilson vanished into the kitchen, and 15 minutes later walked back into House's bedroom with a glass of Scotch and a sandwich which he put on the nightstand. House had put a pillow under his leg and was no longer rubbing it. Good.

"What did Turner say?" Wilson asked.  
House shrugged, "Fentanyl and Vicodin, after some prodding and poking"  
Wilson nodded, he knew that despite House flaunting the cane and the limp, he was somewhat  
reluctant when it came to someone actually taking a look.

"Is it enough?"  
House looked up at him.  
"You could get the whole bottle." He motioned at the glass of scotch.  
A clear 'back-off.

Wilson sighed and shook his head, "Not with the meds, you shouldn't be drinking at all and you know it"  
"Then why'd you give me the glass"  
"Because I don't want you stumbling through the house on crutches in the dark trying to get it yourself"  
"Look, I'm going home, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning around 9"  
House nodded and made a waving gesture with his hand. "Is there anything else you need"  
"Hooker would be nice"  
Wilson stared at him, annoyed.  
"No. And...thanks"

* * *

Wilson left, and House managed to fall asleep - probably thanks to the scotch interacting with the pain meds - only to wake up at 3 am.  
His leg hurt, so he took a Vicodin, and his bladder was full. An easy choice between crutching to the bathroom, or using the empty glass nearby. How convenient. Luckily he quickly fell asleep again.

* * *

Foreman Chase and Cameron were sitting in the whiteboard room.  
"Not that House usually is in at 9 a.m., but does anyone know if he's even coming in at all today?"  
Chase looked around. Both Cameron and Foreman shrugged and shoot their heads.  
"No idea, but since all yesterday's tests came back negative, I guess we should do the LP on Larissa." Cameron suggested.

* * *

Wilson knocked on the door of House's apartment.  
And knocked again. 

"House?"

"Hang on!!"  
House opened the door. "I'm twice as slow as usual," he grumbled.  
He looked better than the day before, different clothes too Wilson noticed, so he must have gotten at least some sleep.

"Good morning"  
Wilson followed House who crutched back to the kitchen table and shoved the last piece of toast in his mouth. Still chewing he went into the living room where he put 1 shoe on and got his jacket of the couch.  
He shoved the crutches in Wilson's hands, put his jacket on, then snatched the crutches back.  
"Let's go, don't have all day"

* * *

Foreman, Cameron and Chase were in the whiteboard room, going over all test results and possible diagnoses, when House came in.  
He sat down, put the pillow underneath his leg, and Cameron put a mug of coffee in front of him with a warm smile. 

"Any news?", House asked.  
"Nothing. No MS, no Lyme, no parasites, no..." Chase started.  
"I got the _nothing_", House interrupted him.

"Maybe it's psychological?", Foreman suggested. "Vester thought it might be."  
House shot Foreman a very nasty glare.  
"Psychological", he scoffed, "that's for when doctors can't figure it out and ship their patient off for someone else to piece the puzzle together. What, you can't prove it so it's all in her head"

Foreman started to feel sorry he suggested it, but then House got his House-look.

"But it _is_ in her head. Let me see that MRI again"

Chase shuffled through some scans and handed House the MRI.  
House looked at it, and nodded.

"Who tested for Lyme?"  
"I did", Foreman reluctantly replied, "I also did the MS and"  
"How did you test for Lyme?"

Foreman looked at House. "You don't trust my lab skills?!"  
"For MS and all the other stuff - yes, for Lyme - not necessarily.  
Neuroborrelia fits.  
How did you test for antibodies?"  
"ELISA", Foreman said."Came up negative".

"Thought so, and it doesn't mean a thing.  
Test her again, Western Blot, and throw some blood under a microscope again if that too comes up negative.  
There are some pretty spectacular spirochete movies on YouTube if you need to know what you're looking for"

10 minutes later it was confirmed, Cameron and Chase went to tell Larissa she had a course of IV Ceftriaxone to look forward to, and that it wasn't a guaranteed cure, but it should at least make her feel and walk whole lot better.

* * *

_Tbc. Feedback makes me happy!  
_

_I'll continue with a second case, but will mainly focus on how House is struggling through this. _  
_(Time just doesn't move fast enough to stick with 1 case.)_


	10. Chapter 10

_And here's chapter 10 - the next update might take a bit longer than 1 day.  
1 swearword, so I may have to change the rating?  
_

* * *

1 week later House was still walking on crutches, but it went a lot less labored, and he didn't need to pause anymore. He and Turner also agreed to switch to Fentanyl 50 instead of 75 and with a little extra Vicodin that transition went very smoothly.

Cameron Foreman and Chase were covering for him in the clinic, and he happily spent his days in his office occasionally Googling something, and when he got bored – he actually opened a few emails.

* * *

_  
Philadelphia Park, Bensalem, NJ.  
_

The early afternoon sun shone on his face, and he inhaled the gentle breeze that accompanied it.  
The sound of the crowds, the slightly nervous bubbling energy right before the start.

The smell of dust, leather…. And the horses.

8 top-fit ones were impatiently shifting around in the start boxes. Tim kept his eye on the starter, holding on to the reigns.

And they were off!

With the sudden jolt of Marin's Dream leaping forward, he felt the familiar adrenalin rush through his veins.  
Within 2 strides he had positioned himself over the mares' shoulders, and in perfect balance they sped along the track, in 3rd position.

The gentle breeze now was strong enough to make his eyes tear, if he wouldn't be wearing goggles.  
The sounds of the crowd completely washed out, replaced by the loud-ish rustling breathing of his horse, the pounding of the hooves on the sand. The flow of the manes, and the powerful moving muscles underneath him.

He really loved his job.

They took the first fence smoothly.  
Marin was a good jumper, he could let her calculate the distance pretty much on her own, and she didn't really need the little extra pressure indicating take-off.

Fence 2 was cleared with ease and as they started  
rounding the corner he tried to stay close to the rail.

Marin was pulling, wanting to go faster, but he knew he had to hold her back for now or she would loose too much ground later on. There were 4 more jumps on the long end, he gave Marin a bit more reins so she could elongate her stride, but as they took off he saw the horse in front of him swerve.

It bumped into them, causing Marin to stumble over the fence, without a way to safely land.

And as every jockey knew, it was impossible to stay seated when your horse landed flat in it's knees with it's nose to the ground.  
Tim let go of the reins, praying none of the horses behind him would injure him.

But this time the injury happened when he hit the ground. A sharp pain in his right leg made him temporarily forget about other horses trampling him. It's wasn't the first time he had broken something due to a fall, but God this hurt!

In the ambulance he managed to ask how his ride was.  
The paramedic shrugged.  
Then the pain meds really started giving in and the next thing he knew they were rolling him into Princeton Plainsborough Teaching hospital on a stretcher.

* * *

Cuddy was standing at the nurses station desk in the main clinic hallway, when she spotted House coming out of the elevator.  
She grabbed a stack of files and walked up to him.

"What are you doing here? You don't have clinic duty."  
"Need a refill", House replied, taking an empty Vicodin bottle out of his pocket.  
"I was looking for Wilson, or Cameron, but you will do."

He half dropped half put the crutches against the counter and leaned on the tabletop for support.  
Marco the pharmacist only briefly glanced at Cuddy – who nodded – before he filled House's prescription.

House took one and pocketed the bottle, then gathered the crutches again and turned to Cuddy.  
"Any interesting cases?"  
Cuddy shook her head, "Your not bored enough for these, and since you're spending most of your time in your office, I expect you to catch up on some of your paperwork."

"And I will recognize Cameron's handwriting!" She warned.

House sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned around to made his way back to the elevator.  
There were already two people in the elevator, and House entering caused them to politely shuffle to the side to make room.  
House inwardly grumbled at the "cripple effect", and inwardly grumbled some more  
when the elevator didn't first stop at his floor, but at the ortho ward.

But the grumbling soon stopped as soon as the elevator doors opened.

* * *

A short dark-haired man on crutches with his leg in a cast was shouting at a nurse.  
One of the men already in the elevator walked out, and House's curiousity was perked so he decided to do the same.

He looked as the elevator men walked up to the short men and put a hand on his shoulder trying to calm him down.

"Tim, what's going on?"  
"This nurse", Tim fumed,"won't let me leave!"

"Why do they want to keep you here, is something wrong?"  
"No, no, Dennis, I just broke my leg. They say I've got a fever, they want to run some tests. It's stupid, I'm going home, how's Marin?"  
"Marin's fine, no lameness…are you sure you should be leaving? You do look a bit unwell."  
"My goddamn leg hurts like hell, and my ribs are bruised," Tim gently put a hand over the lower ribs on his left side. "But I am not unwell, I am angry!"

"Excuse me," House said.  
"I couldn't help but overhear, since you are shouting so loudly, but I really think you should let the hospital run some tests. Ask them to refer the case to Dr. House. I've heard he's great, and that if you really are fine he'll be the first to discharge you."

5'3", about 120 pounds and talking about lameness. That guy's a jockey. House deducted.  
And he was very curious how it came to be that he broke his right leg in assumingly a fall, but bruised only his left ribs…  
And on top of that the fever just didn't fit.


	11. Chapter 11

Here's Chapter 11! A little shorter than usual, but I hope a good enough read anyway.

* * *

House crutched out of the elevator, and Wilson joined him.  
"You look happy."  
"New case."  
Wilson raised his eyebrows questioningly.  
House sat down behind his desk, dropped the crutches to the floor, and gingerly lifted his leg onto the desk. 

It wasn't just rudeness, him putting his feet on tables and desks, it had function.  
More elevation, less pain - provided there was enough support for his lower leg.  
He was sure there was a mathematical function in there somewhere.

Wilson had followed him, and again raised his eyebrows.  
"Guy on the ortho ward. He broke his leg, but has a fever. They want to keep him for a few tests, he wants to leave AMA. I'm taking the case."

"Leaving against AMA, bad leg," Wilson remarked, "reminds you of someone?"

He wasn't sure if it was too soon for jokes like this yet, but House's reaction would tell him.  House paused for a moment, then kind of snorted. "He'll heal."  
A bit too soon, but House had adjusted.

"So, what do you think it is?"  
 "Don't know – need my team to run some tests first."

* * *

House paged his team, and waited in the whiteboard room for Cameron, Foreman and Chase to join him.  
Cameron and Chase sat down at the table, Foreman poured coffee in 3 mugs – questioningly looking at House who stood in front of the whiteboard.  House nodded. He half threw one crutch into Chase's hand, keeping the other one for balance and support.  
Chase put the crutch against the table, and House picked up the black marker. 

26-year-old male

Broken leg   
Fever

He turned around.

"That's it? This is our case?!" Foreman asked, as he put the four mugs on the table and sat down.   
House glared at him.   
"Fine." Foreman shrugged. "How did he break his leg?"

"He fell… off a horse."

"Oh, yeah, that never causes any broken bones."

"What about the fever?" Cameron asked – not very convincingly.   
"He's got a cold?" Foreman suggested, rolling his eyes.   
"House, are you really taking this case? I mean, I know you must be getting a little bored being stuck in your office and all, but…"

House interrupted him. "Wanna bet you'll find something wrong with him? 50 bucks."

Foreman hesitated, if House wanted to put money on it, he must be quite sure that it was more than just a broken leg and a cold.  
And House was hardly ever wrong.  
Cameron and Chase went down to the clinic; Foreman went to run some tests.

* * *

45 minutes later Foreman came storming back into the whiteboard room, looking livid. 

House looked up at him.  
"What, you can't even take a simple anamnesis"?

"The patient is not cooperating! At all!"  
 Foreman fumed on.   
"He's anemic and he's got an enlarged spleen, but he is refusing any further tests.  
He's saying he won't talk to anyone but you, and if you don't hurry up he will leave AMA after all."

House grimaced as he got up.  
"Fine, go join Cameron and Chase in the clinic. I'll page you later."

* * *

House crutched into Tim's room. 

"Hey, you again. Thanks for the tip man," Tim said with a hint of sarcasm,  
"I don't know what kind of hospital this is, but I've been waiting here for hours to see that doc you mentioned!"

"Well, he's here now." House said.

Tim blinked.

"Really. I'd get my diploma's and show them to you, but that would take about an other hour."  
 House lifted up the crutches a little.

"Oh."  
"So, did you fall off a horse too?"

Ever so short uncomfortable silence.  
"Not really."

"Thought so, you'd make a lousy jockey."  
"I'm not gonna argue you on that one, won't even make it into the saddle."  
"You don't know what you're missing but that's not what I meant – you're way too tall.  
House looked at him and half smiled.  
"I can you for a ride if you like?"  
"My leg thing is kinda permanent. Are you hitting on me?  
"Oh. And hell no! I've got a girlfriend, it's just - being out there. It's pure freedom man!"

"I think I know what's wrong with you."  
Tim looked at him, impatient but friendly enough.

"Usually I'd take a proper history, but my leg is killing me.  
So - would you mind just answering a few questions, and if anyone asks pretend I did the rest too?"

Tim shrugged.

"Apart from the broken leg – do you have any joint pain?"  
"This is all confidential, right? The whole doctor patient thing?"  
House nodded.

"Had quite a few injuries over the years, some keep bothering me. And sometimes my fingers and wrists hurt for no reason.  
Don't tell my trainer or I won't get more any rides."

House slightly raised his eyebrows, someone who didn't lie?

"Regular bruises?"  
"I work with young horses. So yes."

"Fatigue?"  
"Sometimes, but I don't think it's that much worse than my colleagues. Have to keep the weight down, so I work out a lot."

"Thought so."  
"Wait a minute…you think it could be something serious??"

Tim's tone of voice changed, more serious, much more worried.

"Like...I might not ride again, like I could die?"  
"If I'm right, you would die from it…"  
"But could I still keep on riding?"

House paused, to his own surprise.  
What was wrong with him?! He was used to deliver bad news to patients. He didn't feel, he just talked and said it like it was.  
But somehow he couldn't bring himself to crush this man's hopes and dreams.

"Let's first run the tests."

Tim sank back in the pillows.


	12. Chapter 12

And another late night addition.

* * *

Back in the whiteboard room House wrote the new symptoms on the board. 

26-year-old male  
Broken leg  
 Fever  
Anemia  
Enlarged spleen  
Fatigue  
Joint pain

Foreman looked at the whiteboard.  
"Are you sure that's the same guy?"

"I know how to take a proper history, people open up to me." House replied as he turned around.  
He put the marker down, sat on a chair and put his leg up.  
The trip to and back from Tim's room had taken its toll and he was hurting and suddenly very tired.

Normally he'd enjoy the game of letting his team figure out the diagnosis, while he knew – or at least strongly suspected- what it was.  
Now he sat back, rubbing his leg, listening to Cameron, Foreman and Chase going back and forth  
between anemia and mild rheuma, leukemia and lymphoma…

"We should page Wilson for a consult," Chase suggested.  
Everybody looked at House.

When he didn't reply Chase asked. "House, are you OK?".  
"You won't need him, it's not cancer. But page him - he can drive me home."

Chase did so, and Cameron looked at the clock, it was early for House to go home.  
"Are you sure you are OK?"

House looked at her.  
"Just peachy. Go play human porcupine with the patient."

Wilson came walking in, "You needed me?"  
Cameron, Foreman and Chase started to walk out and House said:

"Make sure you test for Gaucher's Type 1."

They all paused, looking at the whiteboard, then nodded, and left.

Wilson stared at House in amazement.   
"You gave away the diagnosis? Just like that? And if you already know what's wrong, what do you need me for?"  
"I need a ride home." House got up.

Wilson too glanced at the clock.  
"Is there something wrong? Does your leg hurt?"  
"Of course it hurts!"

They started to walk to the elevator, but Wilson wasn't satisfied with the leg as the reason for House wanting to go home.  
So when they stood in the elevator he cleared his throat.  
"Gaucher's uh, are you sure?"  
"Yes."

They made it to the car in silence, but after 5minutes of driving Wilson suspected the other reason and started to pry a little.  
"So, did you tell the patient it's Gauchers?"  
"Not yet."  
And Wilson knew.

"You know, if I were you, I'd probably have a hard time telling a jockey he's never going to ride again…"   
House didn't respond.

"I especially might have a hard time if I knew what it was like…?"  
"For God's sake, could you stop with all that Freud crap?!"

"House, you need to talk about this sometime. It's not going away if you ignore it long enough."  
"I know."

A short pause, House shifted around in his seat a little.

"I'm worried about you House."

More silence.

"You know it's true what they say, about those five stages.  
Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance…"

House let out an annoyed sigh, Wilson wasn't going to shut up.  
"Yeah, well, they forgot one.  
Numbness…I don't feel anything."

Wilson looked at him.

"Not knowing what you feel, and not wanting to feel are two different things."

* * *

Wilson parked the car, and walked into the apartment after House.  
He made dinner, and they watched TV for a while.

While Wilson cleaned up, House crutched to the piano.

He let his fingers gliding across the keys without pressing them down.  
The slightly cool white ivories that would soon break the silence.  
Silence, sweet silence, but not now.

He took a moment to decide what he would play.  
He needed something that required, demanded, all his attention so that there was no room for anything else.

No jazz, or blues for that matter. The first to slow, the latter was for when he had a lot more energy than now.  
Pop or rock was too easy, left too much room.

Classical it was.

The almost mathematical logic of Bach.

Smart guy, House thought. He wrote his music with the idea that everyone who heard it had to enjoy it.  
There was the main melody for those who just needed the sound.  
There was a more complicated underlying structure for those who needed to understand.  
And then there was that one note, that unexpected twist. It made you grin or look up in surprise. Humor.

House started to play, trying to let the music guide his thoughts.  
But after only a few minutes he stopped.

His goddamn leg even managed to come between him and his music this time.

Every time he pressed down the sustain pedal his brain got a message so  
increasingly loud and clear that even bloody Beethoven would have heard it.

House stood up.  
"I'm going to sleep."

Wilson nodded.  
"I'll be back tomorrow morning." He paused.  
"It'll get better, it just takes time.  
Goodnight House."


	13. Chapter 13

Three evenings of writing in a row resulting in Chapter Thirteen, of proper length.

* * *

Wilson rang House's doorbell, and waited.  
It wasn't long before he heard the lock click, and he let out a small sigh of relief. 

House shoved the keys into Wilson's hand and hopped off the two steps,  leaving Wilson to lock his door  
while he threw the crutches on the backseats and sat down in the front.

Wilson joined him, handed his keys back, and they drove off.

"Sleep OK?"  
"Hmm", House mumbled somewhat absentmindedly.

But he wasn't rubbing his leg - that was not what was distracting him. It was his mind.  
It had been the moment when it dawned on Tim there was a possibility that he might not ride again.  
That one moment that everything House felt and tried to ignore was shown on the face of his patient.  
That moment caused that he could no longer ignore it.

And now his mind was forced to catch up, but faster than it could.

After two more "hmm's" from House Wilson gave up on trying to have a conversation.

* * *

House crutched into the whiteboardroom where Chase was sitting at the table eating a bagel. 

"Good morning", Chase said, pretty inaudible because he had his mouth full.  
He swallowed and held up a sheet of paper.  
"Test results, I just got them. You were right about the Gaucher's.  
How did you know?"

"It fit," House said. "I'll go tell him."

Chase nodded, and took another bite.

* * *

Tim looked up as House approached his bed.  
"Judging by the look on your face, either your leg is still bothering you, or it's bad news."  
He tried to sound cheerful. 

House pulled a stool up to the bed and said down.  
"My leg's better today than it has been in weeks…. You've got Gaucher's."

"I've got… what??"

"Gaucher's disease. It's usually inherited?"  
"I was adopted."

"It's a lysosomal storage disease.  
You are lacking an enzyme that can break down stuff called glucocerebroside, so it accumulates in your body over time.  
All your symptoms fit. You bruise easily, your spleen is enlarged, you break your bones more easily, you are fatigued…  
Even your short stature is explained by it.  
There are three types, you've got the least severe type 1."

"So, is there treatment?" Tim sounded anxious.  
"Yes. Enzyme Replacement Therapy."

Tim relaxed a little.  
"So, you said least severe. When can I start treatment, and when … when can I ride again?"

"We'll start treatment today. As for the riding…"House paused briefly.  
"You can try as soon as your leg is healed, but pretty soon your health will ...  
I don't think it will stay good enough for you to have such a physically demanding job."

He said it, and he knew exactly what Tim felt. He didn't even have to look at his face. But he did.  
Tim stared at him for a while, devastated and lost.

"I'm sorry…" House said.

"I have to call my girlfriend..." Tim said after a long silence.  
House nodded and stood up to leave the room.

"I _will_ ride again." Tim said.

House half looked back over his shoulder, nodded again, and crutched out into the elevator.

It had been what he'd said the first time. 'I'll run again.'  
And you try, until the moment comes that you know it can't be done.  
That you know you have to settle for less, for walking, for walking with crutches, with a cane, with a limp…  
For not running. For never running again. For forever missing true freedom.  
Twice.

* * *

Cameron, Chase and Foreman were sitting at the table in the whiteboardroom.  
Occasionally glancing sideways into House's office. 

"He's been sitting there for 2 hours now", Chase said. "doing nothing. Do you think someone should go in ?"

"Go ahead, Foreman said, I'm not doing it."

Chase stood up, then hesitated. "I'm getting Wilson."

* * *

Wilson stood in the whiteboardroom. House's team was expectantly looking at him, while he was looking at House.  
There was a curious tension in the air. 

Wilson finally turned around and looked at the three in front of him.  
"You go… do something..  I'll go talk to him."

Cameron, Chase and Foreman walked out, glancing back over their shoulders.  
Wilson straightened his posture and walked into House's office.

He casually sat down on the chair opposite House's desk, and watched his friend stare into space.  
"So…"  
House blinked, jerked a little as if he only now noticed Wilson's presence.  
"What happened?"

House looked down at the desk, trying to gather his thoughts and formulate a sentence.  
Somewhere deep down House knew Wilson was right about him needing to talk about it.  
There was a lot he wanted to try and explain, except he had trouble explaining it to himself.

"Something with the patient?" Wilson asked.

"No…" House rubbed his face.

"What did he say when you told him?"  
Again Wilson knew what to ask. Damn him.

"He said what they all say." House replied.

Wilson looked at him.  
"Yet somehow this was different from all the others…?"

Silence.

Then House cleared his throat.  
"Well, if you really must know. He said he would ride again, and he said he was going to call his girlfriend."

"Is …._he…_ afraid he might not ride again?"  
House paused. "He's not sure if he dares to hope as much..."

Wilson knew they really were talking about House, and not about his patient.    
The last time House went through all this, Stacey had left him.  
"You should tell him he's not doing this alone.  
 He's got someone who's not going away, someone who's trying very hard to figure out how to help."

House just said there, silent, thinking.

It wasn't just losing the full use of his leg all over again, the second-time ending of a normal life.  It was everything that came with it too.   
The strain the cane put on his back and shoulder, the pills.  
It was the daily planning it required. Pills at somewhat set times, but different on a bad day.  
Avoiding stairs, not walking long distances, resting his leg.  
And the way people reacted to him.  
People's perceptions that immediately changed because of the cane, because of what he couldn't any longer.

And while those all seemed like small things compared to not being able to walk, they weren't.   
They were constant reminders of what he was losing...or, he corrected himself, of what he had lost.  
There was no minute escaping it, no minute pretending it wasn't …

He finally looked at Wilson.

"This is not what I thought my life would be like."

Wilson fell silent.  
He had tried to get House to open up to him for a long time, but now he finally did, truly did… Wilson wasn't sure what to say.

He finally decided on an: "I know."

* * *

House is owned by FOX and David Shore.  
Feedback makes me really happy!

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

I've got som later chapters all typed out, I just need to think up stuff to go in between.  
So, expect a 2-chapter-update next time. Hope you're still enjoying this!

* * *

Wilson was sitting in his office. He was trying to work, but his mind kept drifting off to a few hours ago.  
After House "confession" and Wilson's support he had casually changed the subject to something lighter.  
They had agreed to have some take-out and a few drinks at House's apartment later tonight.  
But still Wilson wanted, and knew he had to, do something to try and help House get through this.  
He stood up and walked to Cuddy's office. 

Cuddy looked up as Wilson knocked on the door and walked in with a worried look on his face..  
She raised her eyebrows, alarmed.  
"What's wrong, is it House?"  
Wilson sat down.  
"Yes," he sighed, "it's House."  
"What happened, I thought…", Cuddy blurted out. "He looked like he was doing OK, he cut down on the Fentanyl and.."

Wilson interrupted her.  
"I didn't mean his leg, he's walking better, the pain is lessening – or he's getting used to it again..  
I don't know…It's his state of mind I worry about, we need to do something."

Cuddy looked at him.

"We need to do something that makes him House again. Not this "I've lost all hope" House, but the one that grumpily limps through life on a permanent Vicodin buzz."

"Well, what do you suggest?"  
Cuddy leaned back, thinking.  
Wilson too thought for a while.

"Give him clinic duty. He will hate you for it, but his leg can handle 1 hour, and he really needs to do something that keeps him busy enough."

Cuddy considered this, then she nodded in agreement.

* * *

House grumbled inwardly as he crutched out of the elevator. Clinic duty! Hmpf!  
Cuddy had literally ordered him to do 1 hour of clinic duty every day. 

He made his way to the nurses station and he could swear he saw one of the nurses flurry away as she saw him approach.  
Not nurse Brenda though.  
"House, it's been a while."

House thought back to the last time he had seen her...when Wilson brought him in.  
"Yeah, not long enough though…give me a file."

Brenda rolled her eyes and held out a file to him, House wrestled with it.  
"You know if you ask I might carry it for you.." Brenda suggested.  
"I can do it." House grumbled, and slowly crutched off to the exam room.

What he didn't see was Brenda giving a thumbs-up to Cuddy – who was watching from out of her office – as a sign that House  
definitely was acting more like his old 'abrasive-House– self' again.

House closed the door behind him, threw the file on a tray, sat down, and started reading the file.  
Only then did he look up at the 30 something woman sitting on the exam table.  
She stared at the crutches, and House ignored her.

"Fever, runny nose, sore throat, throwing up, muscle aches…"  
The woman nodded.  
"What do you think it is yourself, Mrs...whatever it says here. Who wrote this?!"  
The woman raised an eyebrow.  
"Taylor. And…eh...it feels like the flu..?"  
"So, if you know what it is, why do you come here and infect half the hospital?"  
"But it can't be the flu! I got the shot and..."  
"Well, apparently you got the wrong strain...go home."

House clamped the file under his upper arm again and crutched out.

He briefly paused at the nurses station's desk. "Next."

There were 3 more flu patients waiting on him.  
And he sent them all home.

Brenda handed him the 4th file.  
"This better be something else than the flu!" House grumbled. "Some idiot messed up the vaccine strains and now I'm stuck with 30…"  
Brenda interrupted him. "Last case, you've been here for almost an hour. And," she glanced in the file, "sorry, fever, sweats, headache…"

House grabbed the file and somewhat violently swung open the door of exam 2.

He looked at the table, ready to tell whichever flu-person sat on top, to eat some oranges and sleep.  
But the exam table was empty and he shifted his gaze to the right.

"Slight trouble getting on top", it sounded apologetically.  
A young man in his early 20s was sitting in a wheelchair next to the exam table. Bright blue eyes, short blonde hair, and he seemed flushed.

House threw the file on the tray, looked at the name - RayDeMeern - and sat down.  
"SCI, 7 months ago…" he motioned at the crutches. "You?"  
"I'm missing a chunk of muscle in my leg."

"This is the first time I got sick since. I think I've got the flu, but my mom freaked out on me and made me go here.."  
"You live with your parents?"  
"Yeah… their home was the easiest to make accessible…House nodded.  
"So, sore throat, cold, nausea, fever, aches all over?"  
"Aches only from the waist up, Ray half-joked, no throat problems but I've got a killer headache."

House raised his eyebrows, and he motioned for him to come a bit closer.  
Ray rolled forward and House felt his pulse.. slow.  
He measured his blood pressure, which was a little high.  
Usually with an SCI it was a little lower since the muscles in the legs and the motion of walking didn't push the blood back up.  
He also noticed the guy had goose bumps on his arms.

"I don't think you have the flu."

He motioned to the backpack hanging from the back of the chair.  
"Do you have a catheter with you?"  
Ray nodded slightly embarrassed..."Yeah, why?"  
"I think you've got autonomic dysreflexia.

"If cathing doesn't help we need to admit you, we need to monitor your blood pressure.  
We might give you some Nifedipine to keep it down, are you on any blood thinners?"  
Ray shook his head.

House started explaining.  
"Something below your level of injury is stimulating your nervous system, like a full bladder or sore, but because of the SCI they can't get through. System goes haywire. It's good your mom made you come in."

House got up. " Go find the accessible restroom, I'll be I the waiting area."

20 minutes later Ray found House on waiting room couch, with his feet on the table, and they went back into an exam room.

Ray's blood pressure was down and he said that he already felt a little better.  
House deemed him fit to go home again.

* * *

Reviews make me happy!


	15. Chapter 15

Long chapter - I combined an already written one with a few pieces in between.

* * *

House stood in the elevator, going up.  
And although he wouldn't ever admit it, he was glad Cuddy forced him to do clinic duty.  
It was good to keep his mind busy, even if it was with whining flu people,  
and a kid who's life got turned completely upside down 7 months ago.

House had spent the last weeks being scared and trying to ignore it. First he was scared of not walking again.  
Now that was slowly replaced by being scared of doing too much, or not enough.  
Scared of wanting too much - forcing his body over the edge and being punished for that by spending the night in agony,  
or being punished for being too careful. So careful that it only got worse.

He again had to find that delicate balance between giving in and pushing on.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was pretty uneventful, he spent most of it in his office listening to music, thinking, and even working a little.  
Around 4 Wilson poked his head in and asked is he was ready to go home.

* * *

Wilson followed House inside, carrying a large bag with steaming hot take-out food and chopsticks wrapped in paper,  
and they crashed in the living room. 

House threw the crutches down and put both feet on the table in front of the couch, Wilson peeked into the bags and handed on to House.  
"There's beer in the freezer."  
House said to Wilson, as he switched on the TV.

They watched a football game, talked a little, laughed a little.  
Wilson was glad to hear House laugh again, it had been a while.  
House looked to be a bit closed to normal, but he was still far from how he should be.

It was hours later when Wilson threw the remains of their dinner out, and put some leftovers in the fridge.

He looked at his watch.  
"I'm going home."  
House nodded, taking a couple of Vicodin and washing them down with beer.  
Wilson looked at him for a while.

"You know you shouldn't really do…that."  
House looked at him questioningly, puzzled.

"The pills and the booze." Wilson elaborated.

House blinked in surprise.  
"Why are you telling me that now? It's not as if I haven't done so the past years.."  
"It's different this time, because you are different". There, I said it, he thought.  
House didn't reply. He knew Wilson was right.

"You're not gonna do anything crazy, are you? Like with Christmas?"  
House looked at Wilson again slightly surprised, and shook his head.  
"Am I planning to be KO soon? Yes. But not dead…  
I really need to sleep tonight, and this will help. A lot."

He paused and then added.  
"And really with Christmas that wasn't …" he gestured.  
"I don't hate myself, I hate my life."

Wilson thought. "But the only thing you can change of those two is yourself…"

House looked away.

"I saw a kid in a wheelchair today. SCI, dysreflexic.  
It made me think."  
"Being in pain...sucks. It takes most of my energy, it beyond hurts. But I can still move and walk. I've still got my leg.  
I don't have to worry about taking 3 times as long to get dressed, about catheters, about pressure sores.  
Stairs, I do have to worry about, but if I really need to get up I can.  
And at least I had 40 years of "normalcy" - and then 7 more months - of being fully able bodied, athletic and very fit and healthy.  
I liked my life then, and this – he motioned at his leg – does make me hate it, but not to the point of intentionally wanting to end it.  
It's just that I wouldn't care much if it did end."

"I would…", Wilson said softly.

"I know." House said.  
"And you were right, I could change myself.  
But people take one look at me, and expect me to be miserable. I might as well live up to it."

"You've never been as miserable as this though… it worries me."  
It was silent for quite a long time. But it wasn't a truly uncomfortable silence.

* * *

Finally House spoke.  
"I need more time to adjust to this, again. Just when I started to make more plans, when I started to do all the things I couldn't before again…  
Maybe I'll get back to how I was the first time, maybe I won't."

* * *

House had slept quite well that night, and the rest of the week. He'd gotten a bit more energy back. 

He shut down his computer and sat behind his desk in his office, thinking for a while.  
About the talk he had with Wilson, about his life and his leg.

About Tim, who had just called him to invite him to attend the next race - which was in 1 week.

House had accepted the invitation.  
Tim had made it really worth his while by arranging a seat for Tim, his girlfriend and House in the skybox of one of the owners.  
And although jockeys were notorious for giving bad tips, House liked to bet.  
Not only on the horses but also with Tim on who would be right.

Tim was still not fit to ride, but determined to do so again, if only for as long as he could.  
He had thanked House for telling him point blank what the odds were, saying it made him hope for a fast recovery  
so he could ride for as long as it was still possible.  
And House sat there, and he was trying to decide if he dared to hope again too….

He stood up, balancing on 1 leg, and grabbed the crutches.  
He crutched a few steps and paused, taking a few breaths, bracing himself, unconsciously gripping the handles of the crutches tighter.  
White knuckles, and a determined but slightly scared look on his face.  
What if he couldn't, and what if that meant he would never again?

But what if he could…

He carefully put his right foot on the floor and leaned forward a little, testing the weight. Testing the pain.  
Tolerable.  
He put the crutches in front of him, and for the first time in 4 weeks he took a limping step again.  
He had occasionally put a "step" in between the normal crutches, but with much less weight on the leg.  
He had not tried to "walk" like this yet.

The fierceness of the pain made him hold his breath, made him brace himself,  
(damn, he had to train himself all over again not to do that, not to show..),  
but he was walking, kind off, and it went well.  
It hurt, a lot, but it went well.

A small shimmer of true hope came back.

What if…maybe he could…but would it be to soon?  
He hesitated, then he crutch-walked back to his desk, put the crutches to the side and picked up his cane.

* * *

Cuddy walked through the hallway, on her way to House with a bunch of files.  
And glancing through the half closed blinds into House's office she came to an abrupt halt.

What on earth was House doing?

She looked a bit longer.. was he… ?  
House was trying to walk, she realized.  
She noticed the stiffening of his posture, the concentrated look on his face, and she saw him put his right foot down and take a step.  
Then he paused, and he took a few more steps.

Cuddy smiled, knowing the changes of House being OK just had increased by 40 percent.  
She wasn't sure if she should walk in on him, knowing House planned this as a private moment,  
not as something the world should see.  
House walked back to his desk and Cuddy decided to let him catch his breath and look busy, before she'd walk in.

Except House wasn't sitting down, he was getting his cane!  
And with a darkening feeling in her stomach Cuddy watched as House leaned with one hand on his desk and one hand on the cane. House took a step – same as with two crutches -  
Oh House, Cuddy thought, please don't. It's too soon, don't get reckless now.

And House let go of the desk and took one step with just the support of his cane.  
At least that is what he must have intended to do.  
In stead his leg gave out. Muscles too weak, pain too much, and as his knee buckled House fell to his right.

He dropped the cane, and instinctively tried to rotate his body so that he would not land on the right leg.

He caught himself with his right hand, and then landed half on his leg half on his butt, and 2 seconds later he was curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth a little, with both hands on his leg.

Cuddy had to summon all her self control as she waited for House to start moving again, which luckily was after only a minute or so.  
She saw him gingerly sitting up, left leg stretched out in front of him, right leg still bent at the knee.

And then she walked in.  
She put the files on the desk and picked up Houses cane, as House rubbed his leg and tried to move it a little.

He looked at Cuddy.  
"I had to pick up something from underneath the desk" he said.  
Cuddy looked at him.  
"Shit, you saw." Not a question.

Cuddy nodded and held out a hand to him.  
"Looks like something else needs picking up…"

House took her hand.  
"Don't drop me", he warned.  
No jokes, no semi sexual remarks.  
"I won't".

She pulled House up, and holding on to her arm so he could keep his balance he hopped the two paces to his desk chair.  
Not daring to put any weight on it in case it gave out again, and he sat down with a suppressed moan.  
He rubbed his leg, and Cuddy walked around the desk and sat down opposite him.

"You OK?" she asked after a while serious tone.  
"Think so...", but he didn't sound too sure yet.

Cuddy stood up and walked into the whiteboard room, pouring House a cup of coffee.  
Walking back she saw him bend his leg a few times, and then he leaned back in his chair, not rubbing it anymore.  
A good sign she thought relieved.

She sat back down opposite him, handing him the coffee.  
"It's just too soon for the cane House."

House shrugged and snarled at her.  
"So I found out."

Cuddy almost smiled at the snarl.  
Then she asked:  
"Are you really ok? Will you be OK?  
I mean, not just the leg…but, you?"

House shrugged again. Took a sip of his coffee.

"You've lost it all twice", Cuddy said softly, "It's OK to feel something you know."

House looked up at her, took his Vicodin out of his pocket.  
"I spend all my days trying not to."

* * *

Reviews still make me happy :) 


	16. Chapter 16

Process was slow, but at least there was process.

A few days ago he (and Turner...although House had merely informed him of his plan) decided to stop the Fentanyl patches, and switch to a high dose of Vicodin 750. House had expected to stay on the same pain level for a while, while his body was adjusting to the new dosages.  
But to his surprise, and relief, the pain kept lessening a little every week.

He guessed the anti-inflammatories were doing their job, that the damage he'd done to the muscle fibers was getting less, that at least part of his body was still working when it came to nerves _not_ keeping on firing long after the initial damage was done.

He assumed that the walking, combined with the lots of resting and elevating the leg, were making his leg stronger again.  
And probably he was getting used to the pain again as well. His mind was catching up, and getting close to that balance between fighting and accepting things. Or, maybe not really accepting.

The plan was to try to get to 660, 500, and finally back to the 250 he started out with.  
But for the moment, House was content, almost proud, that he was off the Fentanyl - and close to ditching the crutches.

Over the week, House was able to make more and more proper (limping) steps when walking on crutches. He was starting to sleep a little better again too. Better being a relative term for someone who under the best of circumstances woke up at least 2 times a night with a leg spasm.

He tried to walk with the cane – unsuccessfully - two more times. But at home, where no one would see him.  
At least he didn't fall again.  
And then the third time, 8 days after the first attempt in his office, his leg held.

Three steps, the fourth with a bit more confidence.

Ten steps. And despite the pain and the much more irregular gait, House smiled.

He had been walking/crutching all day on it, and it still held for ten paces. It wouldn't be long before he could switch back to his cane full time.

So when Tim called the hospital, inviting House to come see the races that weekend, House agreed. Taking the next careful step towards ..well, not to that previous life, but to life how it had been.

Tim picked him up at 11 am that Saturday. His girlfriend Jenna was driving, Tim settled down on the backseats, letting House ride shotgun – more comfort and legroom.

To his own surprise House actually liked being out again.  
People looked, some stared, but for once he couldn't be sure if it was because of the crutches, because of the two guys on crutches, or because he was about twice as tall as Tim.

As he crutched towards the entrance, following Tim, he took in the noise of people gathering, the excited shouts as the horses neared the finish line.  
He followed Tim and Jenna to the stables, where he was met by the smell of straw, horsefood, horse-sweat, leather and manure.  
Tim stopped in front of one of the boxes.

"Walt?" A head popped up from somewhere underneath the horse.  
"Hey Tim!"  
"Hay is for horses" , Tim joked.  
"So?", Walt smiled, "Hi is Dutch for shark..and hello is just way too formal for a guy like you."  
"This is Walt", Tim said to House."Actually his name is Wouter, he's Dutch..so I think the shark part is probably true, but Walt is a lot easier to pronounce. He's riding Marin today."

House nodded a greeting, and Walt ducked out of sight again – but he kept on talking.

"Almost finished here..."

House raised his eyebrows, and Tim explained.  
"It rained this morning, he's putting in studs to keep the horse from slipping on the damp grass when it's landing."  
"One gimpy jockey is enough", Walt joked.

Tim quickly glanced out House, but he pretended he hadn't heard.

House watched as Walt patted Marin on her hind quarters, and got out of the box.

"So", he said as he pretty comfortably leaned on his crutches, "are you any good?"  
Walt smiled. "Of course I am".  
He paused and quickly understood.  
"You're a betting man?"

House smiled and nodded.  
"I am, so maybe instead of asking you if you are any good, I should have asked: are you better than your opponents?"

Walt smiled, "Follow me."

All three of them followed Walt to the bookies. Jockeys were not allowed to bet, but they both were happy to advice House on who would win the 2 races they would watch. Walt smiled as House bet 25 dollars for him to end with the first three.

Walt went back to check on Marin's Dream and discuss strategies with the trainer.  
Tim, Jenna and House made their way to one of the skyboxes. They tackled 2 stairs which left both Tim and House winded.  
Jenna grinned when they both sat down with a grunt.

The view from the owner's box was great, and they enjoyed some free food(House and Jenna) and drinks (Tim) as the horses for the first race were led to the start.

Conversation stopped, changed to uttered encouragements when the horses took off.

House smiled as he noticed Tim unconsciously shifted his weight when he was watching the horses jump. He slightly leaned forward on the jump, back on the landing. Tensing up when a horse and rider misjudged the distance and barely made it.

Walt did really well, ending 2nd behind a horse that was 6 lengths ahead of him.

House collected his winnings from the bookie, and one hour later Jenna dropped him off.

"So, had fun?" Asked Tim.  
House nodded.  
"I get it now".

And he did.

He got that it was important to have something you truly loved, something you would do no matter what the consequences were.

Tomorrow he would ride his bike to work.


	17. Chapter 17

Well, I was supposed to have found a beta to help me with the clinic part, but I never heard back from her after sending the unfinished chapter and the information of what I wanted to add..So ignore the speed of the clinic scene.  
I don't want to wait any longer, and I don't really want to write it myself because I'm working on what follows.

Feel free to rewrite and message me, and if I like it I'll insert it with credit :)

(I already had the case and the jokes, but nothing else thought out yet. So that's pretty much how it's on the page right now.)

Chapter 17.

House woke up, and for the first time in months he actually didn't mind getting out of bed as much. It was less of a struggle getting up, but it was a slow progress as usual. He half sat up, used his hands to slide his leg over the edge, and gathered himself for a few seconds before slowly standing up.

He chewed on a Vicodin as he grabbed the crutches and made his way to the bathroom.

It took him almost 30 minutes to quickly shower and get dressed, and another 30 to down some breakfast and superglue some velcro straps to his bike to hold the crutches.

Most people would consider it "careless" or "risky" behavior, him riding a motorcycle with his leg.  
House figured that statistically the chance of injuring an already injured leg was pretty slim… well worth the freedom it gave him. Well worth Cuddy jumping down his throat if she found out - and she would. The only problems were getting on, off, and shifting gears. But he hadn't thought of a possible fourth problem…

House parked in the garage underneath the hospital, dragged his leg over the seat, and got his crutches. As he crutched through the main clinic doors he saw Cuddy standing near the nurses station, waiting on him.

"Goodmorning House."  
"Hi."  
"Patient in 3. You've got one hour of clinic duty today."

House shot her an annoyed glare, motioning – crutches, file, only 2 hands.  
Cuddy put the file on the nurses station desk and eyed the helmetshaped backpack.

"How's the leg?" There was a serious tone in her voice, and she hesitated for a moment. "I thought 1 hour of clinic duty would be OK...?"

Shit! House thought. He could use his leg to escape clinic duty, but then Cuddy would give him even more grief about riding his bike.  
House nodded and grunted. "Fine."

Cuddy stepped aside and House quickly looked over the patient file. He then shoved it into his backback, giving Cuddy a good look at the helmet in the process, and crutched to exam rom 3.

Inside he found a brown haired woman in her 30's sitting on the exam table.

House dropped the crutches and backback as he sat down, and rolled the stool closer to the table.

"So, what brings you here Miss.."  
He frowned, and rolled the stool back, but before he got the file out of his backpack the woman spoke up.

"Linda James. I guess doctors get injured too uh?" She nodded her head at his crutches.  
"Yeah."

"I've been having this cough. My own doctor first thought I had a cold, then he upgraded it to pneumonia 2 weeks later, but the antibiotics that he gave me aren't doing a thing. I don't trust the guy to get it right the third time, so I came here."

House got out his stetoscope and listened.

"Any other complaints?"

"Er... did you read my chart?"  
"Well, I pretended to because my boss was looking, but not really."

"Bipolar. But I'm on lithium and that's been working great for the past 7 months."  
House nodded. He asked a few more questions and in the end concluded that she had a cough, fatigue, and weightloss.

"But I wouldn't say the weightloss is a problem", Linda added.

"Your boyfriend likes you better skinny?", House scoffed.  
"No. But my girlfriend does." Linda answered.

House shrugged. "I'm gonna admit you to let my team run some tests."

House paged Foreman, and saw 3 other patients before he joined them in the whiteboard room.

"So, what's with our patient?"  
"We're testing for heart trouble", Chase said.  
"Did you take the history?", House asked Cameron.  
She nodded.

"Did the girlfriend have any of the same symptoms?"  
Cameron shook her head.

"Girlfriend?", Foreman asked.  
"Yes. She's gay."

Foreman stared at House.

"What. You think it's relevant? Think it's related to ilness? Call the boss, can't come to work today, still gay?  
She's also bipolar. Double whammy.  
And guess what, crazy people can get sick too. Come one, you guys did nothing other than testing for heart problems?"

He got three blank stares.

"Ok. Here's a hint. Cough, not pneumonia. I want to rule something out."  
"I'll go take a chest X-ray," Chase said.

2 Hours later House was studying Linda's X-rays on the lightbox in his office.  
Pleural effusion. Shit. Stick a needle in her, I'll page Wilson.  
Three minutes later Wilson stormed into his office.

"Are you OK??"

House looked at him slightly surprised.  
Wilson held up his paged. " 911, House"

House still looked surprised.

"I thought maybe you fell or something." Wilson let out a breath. "Don't scare me like that!"

" Wanna see something scary?" House asked, and he pointed at the Xrays.

"One of our colleagues who somehow managed to cheat his way through medschool , because there is no way he's smart enough, thought this was pneumonia.

Wilson looked at the X-ray on the wall.

"Stage 1?"

"We didn't biopsy any lymph nodes yet, but I'm ordering Cameron to slide her through a CT scan before I'll refer her to you."

Wilson nodded. " Looks like mesothelioma. Tell her to have her house checked for asbestos."

At the end of the day House was pretty beat, but looking forward to the bikeride home.

Cuddy watched him as he stepped into the elevator and got his helmet out of his bag with a smile. She thought it better not to lecture him on the dangers of riding a bike in general, and with a bad leg specifically, just yet. But she did want to, again, make it clear to him that she thought him an idiot for doing so. And in this case, House might have agreed with her...

TBC (soon)


	18. Chapter 18

House zipped his leather jacket close, strapped his crutches into the velcro straps on the side of the bike, and carefully helped his right leg over the seat. He revved the engine, put his helmet on, and he was on his way home.

He was riding along an empty stretch, the road still hot from a day of sunshine, the evening air cool.  
He was tired, but he was thoroughly enjoying the ride. He would always cherish the freedom his bike gave him. It was a mix between remembering what it was like to have a functioning body – to decide exactly how fast you wanted to go, to be in control - but also remembering too clearly what it was like not to be able to ride it at all.

And then there suddenly was a police car behind him, lights flashing…  
He was being pulled over.  
He uttered a curse under his breath. So much for a short but almost-perfect moment.

House slowed down and stopped on the side of the road, as the cruiser stopped behind him.

House shut down the engine and grimaced as he dragged his leg over the seat, standing next to his bike as the officer slowly walked up to him. He put his helmet on the seat.

"Good evening sir."

Jesus, how old was this kid?!, House thought, as he nodded. "Good evening."

The cop stopped a few feet away from him, fiddling with his radio and a notepad, and House could see he had been right about his age. He couldn't be over 25. He handed the cop his license and registration.

Since the rookie cop didn't do much else besides trying to figure out how to hold all his items as well as House's papers without dropping anything, House scraped his throat.  
"Mind telling me why you pulled me over, officer.. House read the name tag.. Roland?"

"Oh, er.. sorry…You were swerving and speeding, and when I checked the system there was an APB out on your vehicle, it was reported stolen last year...But I see your registration information is al here, and correct. Sir, have you been drinking?"

"No."

"Right. Er...I'll call this in, and then I'll have you perform a few road-side tests for me."  
He pressed a few buttons on the radio until the hiss turned into a voice.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Roland number JR87S2, I pulled a er...Mr House over on highway…"  
House tuned out as Roland rattled off a series of formalities, he half heard him cancel the APB.  
When Roland was done he turned to House who was glancing at his watch.  
"OK, sir, could you follow my finger with your eyes?"

House did so, knowing the Vicodin might cause a slight nystagmus jitter.  
The fact that officer Roland did the test twice and started to look a bit concerned let House believe there indeed may be a little jittering.

"Right…, now when I say ' go' , could you please take 9 steps, heel to toe, and then turn and do the same thing back again?"  
House suppressed a smirk and started to reach for his crutches.

Then things happened quite quickly – before he knew it officer Roland half jumped him, yanking his hands behind his back, shoving House into the bike as he put the handcuffs on.  
"Don't move!" Roland shouted.

Wrong order, you idiot!, House thought, but with his leg slammed into the bike he was trying hard not to hiss in pain, and temporarily speaking wasn't an option.

"Dispatch", he heard behind him, as Roland shouted into the radio, "I'm arresting a motorist who was likely driving under the influence, and then proceeded to reach for some kind of weapon when I asked him to do a field sobriety test".

"I was not …" House started to protest.  
Roland shoved him a bit further into the bike and he continued, "Please inform detective Tritter that I'm bringing someone in."

"Tritter? Did Tritter sent you after me?!", House asked furiously through clenched jaws. Something clicked in his brain – it was Tritter who put out the APB on the "stolen" bike! Probably with an 'armed and dangerous' warning too.

Roland clicked his radio back to his shoulder.  
"To the backseat" … No more _sir_, House noticed.

Roland started to turn House around, briskly pushing him forward in the direction of the car.  
House more hopped than limped the few steps, his leg still sending sharp waves of pain up and down.

"Hang on!" House said sharply, coming to an abrupt halt and trying to keep his balance as the rookie cop still tried to push him forward. "I was _not_ reaching for a weapon, I was reaching for my crutches!"

This finally caught Roland's attention and he stopped pushing House. "Your...what??"  
"Crutches", House spoke slowly, articulating every letter carefully.  
Roland hesitated for a few seconds, and looked House up and down, perplexed.  
"What, a cripple can't ride his bike now?! Or did you miss that part on my license?"

The still perplexed stare the cop gave him told House he indeed had missed that tiny bit of information.  
For a few more seconds Roland seemed to be trying to make up his mind on what to do.  
House was almost surprised he didn't radio anyone for advice.  
Then he – much more gently – pushed House to the side of the road again, four more hopped steps.

Instead of holding him by his wrists and handcuffs, he put his hand on House's shoulder – guiding him without disturbing his balance as much.  
When they stood still again, he glanced at House's right leg.

"Don't move", he finally ordered.


	19. Chapter 19

Roland walked back to the bike while he kept an eye on House – making sure he didn't go anywhere.  
Then he bent over the seat of the bike, and House heard the crisp sound of the velcro as Roland retrieved his crutches.  
He walked back to House.

"I still have to take you to the station. I already called in the arrest and someone's on his way to tow your bike and follow us back." House looked at him.  
"I'm guessing walking is a lot easier without the handcuffs?"

House tried to quickly make up his mind between throwing a hissy-fit and just doing what the cop asked him. And quite frankly, he was too tired for the fit.

"Yeah."

"Right. So, um, normally they'd do this at Central Booking, but I need to make sure you don't have any weapons or sharp objects on you before I uncuff you."

Roland went through all the formalities and explanations, and asked House if he understood. House nodded.

Roland started patting House down, finding a wallet, a cell phone and a bottle of Vicodin in House's coat pockets. He had gotten a small plastic bag out of one of his uniform's pockets and dropped all items in there.  
He quickly went down House's left leg, and then he paused.

"Er…will this one be OK?"

"Watch the upper leg", House muttered, slightly embarrassed but also relieved that he asked.

Roland carefully slid a hand along the outside, feeling a considerable dent where he had expected muscle, noticing the man tensing up even under the slightest pressure.

He removed the handcuffs and stayed close to House as he crutched to the car.  
House knew that keeping the distance between them as short as possible would be safer for the cop, just in case he would decide to take a swing at him with a crutch. Which he didn't.

Roland closed the door behind House and put the crutches in front of the passenger seat, then he radio-ed the station that they were coming in.

30 minutes later he lead House into the station, and inside he found that Tritter was waiting on them. Leaning casually against the wall in the central booking area.

House glared at him.

Tritter turned to Roland.  
"Congratulations on your first arrest, I'll take it from here so you can finish the paperwork. Jason will talk you through it."Roland looked surprised.  
"Go." Tritter shooed him away.

"Dr. House. We meet again, this must be my lucky day."  
House ignored him.  
"Broke your cane?", Tritter nodded his head at the crutches.  
House didn't respond.

Tritter glanced at a form.

"Speeding and swerving, were we? Have you been drinking?"  
"No." House said.  
"So you just swerved for no reason?"

House thought the reason might be that shifting gears hurt like hell… but he just stared at Tritter.

"Or maybe you were under the influence of something else?", Tritter said.  
House knew he was hinting at the Vicodin, and again he said nothing.  
"Talking about which, Tritter continued as he held up the plastic bag with House's things, "you will get them back if, when, we release you.

Now House spoke up.  
"If you release me? I'm taking the breathalyzer and I'm getting out of here. You have no grounds on which to keep me here!"

"Oh, I know you're not really drunk. But you see, it's a very, very busy night tonight...we might just have to keep you in a … waiting area.. for a while. You know, while officer Roland finishes his paperwork, and I go over it to make sure it's all filled out correctly."

House got his one phonecall and reluctantly signed a form confirming he understood his rights.  
Then Tritter and some lower ranking officer walked House to a nearby cell.  
They took his crutches and watched as House limped inside.  
With clenched jaws House took the few steps, glad that his leg didn't give, pretending he didn't really need the crutches.

House was furious. And on top of that, annoyed when he saw the cell was already occupied by two other people. Both appeared to be quite drunk. The short thin guy was half asleep, but the taller guy was pacing around and he looked agitated.  
Even worse, he looked like he spent a lot of time in the gym lifting weights.

Tritter smiled at House as he closed the door a little behind them, keeping the other guy out of earshot.  
"You might want to stay out of his way…Joe gets a temper when he's had too much to drink. Take off your shoes please."

House was surprised by the added please, but knew it was likely an automatism. Tritter must have asked thousands of people to do the same thing.

House sank down to the floor, holding on to the bars as he lowered himself.  
He took off his shoes, and resisted the urge to throw them at Tritter's head.  
In stead he stretched out a hand so that Tritter had to walk further into the cell to get them. Sadly Tritter didn't seem to mind.

He smiled at House, and left. House leaned with his back against the bars.  
He hoped Wilson would listen to his answering machine soon and come bail him out.

He looked at the sleeping man for a while, and occasionally glanced at Joe who was still pacing around agitatedly. After an hour or so, the pain in his leg started to get beyond what he could ignore.  
He rubbed it for a while, which didn't do much. He needed to be home, on his couch, with his pills and a drink and...  
The pain kept getting worse, and he started to feel slightly sick to his stomach.  
When an officer opened the door and woke up the sleeping man to move him to another cell, House grabbed the bars and pulled himself up.

"I need my pills".  
The officer briefly looked at him. "I'll get someone to take you to medical".

House sat down on the bench, and a minute later the door opened again.  
And Tritter appeared.  
House had hoped for anyone but Tritter.

Tritter stopped in front of House, smiling. "Everything goes through me."  
"I need my pills".

House tried to keep all emotion out of his voice, he was merely stating a fact.  
Tritter just smiled and without saying a thing, he turned around and walked away again.  
"HEY!", House yelled.

But he knew Tritter wouldn't come back.

He rubbed his leg more franticly now, which again didn't help, and as the nausea climbed up to a certain threshold, he eyed the distance to the sink in the corner and got up.

Bad move.

Apparently Joe had been waiting for something to happen, because his head snapped up and within seconds he stood in front of House. Slightly too close for comfort. House was tall, but he had to look up.  
"What's your problem?!" Joe demanded. He appeared a lot more agitated than drunk.

House weighed his options, a fight with Joe might result in a broken finger or nose, which would help with the pain a little, but the chance and risk of Joe kicking his leg was a bit too close a call, even for House.  
"I'm gonna be sick in a minute, preferably in the sink."

Joe blinked and then took a small step to the side so House could pass.  
House made it to the sink just in time, and spent a few miserable moments coughing and spitting, giving in to the violent waves of nausea. When he turned around, Joe was standing behind him.  
"That was not the kind of throwing up one does when hung-over", Joe stated expertly.

House ignored him and tried to get past him.  
He stopped when a fist closed around his lower arm like some vice.

He looked at Joe.  
"If you hit me, please make sure I go knock-out."

Joe said nothing, but in stead of hitting him, with the same vice like fist he pulled House's arm over his own shoulder and held him upright until they reached the bench where House could sit down. House was to surprised to protest.  
Then he walked to the door and shouted "Hey!", until Tritter came again.

"Look, I know you said you'd make any charges disappear if I felt like beating this man up, but he's already in more pain than I can inflict."

Tritter looked at House – hand on his leg, his posture tense – and he shrugged.  
"So?".

"So, get him to medical."  
A slowly spoken threat.  
House could almost hear the sounds of Tritter's plan backfiring on him, and if it weren't for the pain he would have smiled.

Tritter looked mad as hell as he turned to House and with a nod of his head indicated that he should follow him.  
House pulled himself up, and held on to the bars as he slowly limped to Tritter.  
"Turn around." Tritter had his handcuffs ready.  
House slowly rotated on the ball of his left foot.  
"I need crutches, I can't walk if you cuff me." He hated how tired he sounded.  
Tritter ignored him, put the cuffs on and gave House a little push forward.

It was very slow progress. House kept protesting. He had trouble keeping his balance, could barely tolerate putting weight on his right leg, and more hopped than limped. And Tritter got more and more annoyed.

When House's leg half gave out about 60 feet away from Medical, Tritter had to pull him upright.  
"Drop the act!", Tritter hissed in his ear, "they are not more likely to give you the drugs if you look more like you need them."  
Up to that point House hadn't realized Tritter still thought he was faking it for the sake of getting high on Vicodin, he thought Tritter just enjoyed torturing him.

He stood there, tired, in pain, panting, right foot more off than on the ground, and leaning against Tritter for support.Leaning on the man he'd least wanted to gave to lean on.

When his leg started to feel like it would allow him to move again, he slowly shifted his weight.  
"If I really was the drug seeker you think I am, don't you think I'd walk a little faster towards them?!"

"Shut up".

But Tritter did grip House's wrists a bit firmer, and immediately corrected his balance whenever he got off.

House was exhausted as he sank down on the chair in front of a desk. He wanted to rub his leg, but couldn't with his hands cuffed. He was breathing hard, and still nauseous, and the only relief was knowing there soon would be relief.

The woman behind the desk put on clean cloves as she looked up at Tritter.

"He says he needs drugs". Tritter actually made quotations marks in the air, as he pronounced the word needs.  
"He put up a nice little show there, but I've seen him walk."

She frowned, took House's blood pressure.  
"What kind of drugs do you need sir?"  
Morphine, dilaudid, fentanyl, House thought. "Vicodin".

The woman frowned some more.

"Fast pulse, high BP...who's prescribing your Vicodin?"  
"Turner, at PPTH".  
She looked at Tritter.

"This man has been in holding for 3 hours, right?"

Tritter nodded.  
"And he hasn't gotten an meds? Was he high when he got in?"  
To House's surprise Tritter answered 'no' to both her questions.

She called Turner, apologized for waking him up.

House could hear Turner shouting through the phone when the women asked if she should give House anything for the pain.  
When she hung up, she looked at Tritter.

"He told me to give him morphine if I had it,threatened to sue me if I didn't do something within 5 minutes...this man is not faking anything."

Tritter's jaw almost dropped, and he needed to collect himself for a moment.  
"I've seen him walk... !"

He looked at the nurse, at House.  
"He's riding a bike for God's sake."

They both ignored him. The nurse looked at House.  
Vicodin or morphine?  
House hesitated, wanting the morphine, but knowing he had to drive his bike home again too.  
"Vicodin", he decided, "unless you're keeping me here for much longer."

The nurse looked at Tritter, who - House was sure - didn't mean to say it, but was still too shocked to say anything else.  
"I'll process him now, he'll be out within an hour."

House got his max dose of Vicodin, and Tritter ordered a cop to watch him as he went off to fetch House's crutches.  
House thought that Tritter personally getting them was probably as much of an apology as he was going to get, but he wasn't going to complain - at least now he could sit down and let the Vicodin kick in.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Tritter came back a few minutes later, carrying House's blue elbow crutches, and House felt and looked considerably better. Tritter uncuffed him and held out the crutches as House got up and accepted them.

He relaxed a little at the familiarity of distributing his weight over a leg and 2 pieces of some aluminium alloy. For a few steps Tritter put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him in the right direction back to the cell, but then he just walked slightly behind him through the hallway without touching him.

House held his right foot completely off the floor most of the time. He tried the occasional 'step' in between, but his leg was still complaining too much to keep that up.  
When he briefly glanced back over his shoulder at Tritter, he saw that the man was looking at his feet and not straight ahead. And apparently he had been doing so for quite a while. He tried another few steps, gripping the crutches a bit tighter, then giving up again.

It annoyed House that Tritter had been watching him, had been studying how he walked, without him knowing. The testing was a private thing. People were not supposed to see him try, then tense up, and not try anymore for a while. It changed how they saw him, it changed their eyes.

Tritter noticed House noticed, and after a few more steps House spoke up.  
"You still don't believe me?" Half mocking, half accusing. Definitely _not _half defensive.

Tritter looked at him sideways. Almost obviously trying to decide if he should keep on bullying House, or if he should start to feel sorry for him.

"You walked." he stated, but not very convincingly.  
House only briefly looked at him, but said nothing. He didn't owe the man an explanation, and he wasn't going to give him one.

Tritter shook his head and started again, more firmly.

"I've seen you walk with only a cane. That leg was better. A friend of mine said he saw you without anything, walking perfectly fine."  
This time House didn't even look at him, not wanting Tritter to see the pain of the loss on top of the physical pain. The trouble with cops was that they were great at reading faces.. well, most of the time anyway.  
Tritter waited for an explanation, while House waited for Tritter to start walking again. House won.

They walked a few more steps in silence, as Tritter adjusted his views of House – wrong or right – in his head. Then,10 feet away from the cell door, he stopped House by - almost carefully so - laying a hand on his shoulder.

House turned and looked at him.

--

I need a little input please. Evil Tritter or Human Tritter? (Human Tritter part half written...but keeping evil Tritter is tempting too..)


	21. Chapter 21

_author's note Human Tritter it is :).  
(And could someone maybe refresh my grammar memory. when is it 's if it's "possessive" , is it Tritter's hand, or Tritters hand?  
_

Tritter looked at House, in his mind going over all the trouble he had caused him by going after him for the pills. He might have been right about House using more pills than he really needed, and House could have been much less of an arrogant son of a bitch. But he had only seen the addict, like he had seen so many addicts, and he had ignored the cane.

House looked at Tritters hand, annoyed. "What?"

"You look like crap, the withdrawal kind of crap." He wanted, no - _needed_, to be sure before giving in.  
"Pain has the same effect", House said matter-of-factly, still glaring at Tritters hand.

Tritter took his hand away and slightly hesitatingly spoke, in a different kind of voice. "You chose Vicodin over morphine."  
"So?", House was getting really annoyed now.  
Tritter replied, a bit more firmly. "You can barely walk on crutches and you chose Vicodin over morphine. You might be addicted, but you are not an addict."

House was a little taken aback.  
Then he said: "Morphine messes with my head. I still need to drive home. Speaking of which..."  
"Right."

Tritter opened the cell door slightly absentmindedly, hesitated even when he was about to take House's crutches at the door. So House practically shoved them in Tritters hands and hopped to the bench where he sat down.

Tritter walked through the hallway with the crutches in his hand, in his mind going over every encounter he had with House.

Him kicking the cane away that first time had been a test, which House passed by not putting any weight on the leg. And it was a warning too, which House had ignored.  
And through it all Tritter had thought he was right. Until now it had never occurred to him that everything he noticed and recognized about House and his behavior, everything he attributed to addiction and drugs, might be the only way the man knew when it came to dealing with himself, the world, and with how that world saw him.

Tritter knew that living in constant pain changes a person. It lowers ones threshold for...everything. Including dealing with other people's ignorance, stupidity, and – Tritter had to admit to himself – prejudice.

So when Wilson arrived at the station 30 minutes later to pick up House, Tritter was the one who greeted him and, to Wilson's surprise, told him there was no bail and he had to wait for a few minutes while he'd go and get House.

House had been leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Both to get some rest, and to avoid having to talk to Joe. Tritter appeared in the door opening with House's crutches and the message that he was free to go.

He walked next to House through the hallway.

"So..crutches, no more cane?"  
House didn't reply.  
"I'm sorry I made you walk earlier, I really thought..."  
"I don't want your pity."

Wilson greeted House with a little badly hidden concern in his voice. "Hey."  
They turned to the desk where Tritter gave House his belongings back. They both waited, and when nothing happened Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"No forms to sign?"

Tritter shook his head.  
"No, you are free to go."

House nodded, Wilson blinked, and they walked to the parking lot where Wilson glanced at House's bike, then at House.  
"I'll give you a ride home, we'll pick up your bike tomorrow."

In the car Wilson looked at House, still confused.  
"So, what just happened? No forms, no judge..? And, are you OK? You don't look.."  
"I'm fine", House sighed. Then added slightly triumphantly, "and what happened is that I pwn'd him". Back to the sigh, "let's just go home."

_Chapter 22 will follow very shortly._


	22. Chapter 22

_author's note: I'm reusing a slightly rewritten previously stand-alone story here. I always planned to write this in with a longer one, but well, at the pace I'm going.. ;) Also – I will continue this (where the standalone just ended.)_

_author's grumble: why does it take ages to adjust the formatting!?  
_

House had tried everything he could to avoid having to go, but Cuddy had not let herself be fooled. She rushed up to him in the hospital hallway, grabbed his left arm and forced him to stop and turn around.

"House, you promised you would go!"

_Just because I'm not using the crutches anymore, just because I'm back to the cane, doesn't mean I'm back to how it was before…  
_"Yes, but you hadn't told me it was all the way in Seattle!"

"If it had been Vegas you wouldn't have hesitated for 1 single second. You are going. Get packing, now!"

"Vegas has slot machines and hookers."

"Remember last time you went to Vegas? The Annual Conference of Diagnostic Medicine .

The one with that C.S.I. arresting you because Dr. Goodard died and they thought you killed the guy. _(See the *)Note at the bottom of the page)_"

House made a face as Cuddy continued.  
"Besides, the hospital has already paid for your ticket. So, get packing."

And so House found himself at Newark Liberty International airport. Waiting.  
Already tired from the 50 mile drive from Trenton to Newark.

With the strict security measures he had to show 2 hours early or he wouldn't be allowed on the plane. He had checked in his one bag right away so he didn't have to drag it along. Not having one hand free was bad enough, not having any hand free plain sucked.

It was very busy and he ended up staring down a woman until she could no longer ignore him and quickly removed the pile of luggage, food and kid's toys and clothes from the two seats next to her, so House could sit down.

There were five kids running around, House estimated them ranging from about 3 to 9 years two youngest boys were most likely twins, he decided. The woman next to him was obviously their mother (the "mom, can we pleaaaase have more candy" kind of gave that away), and she clearly wasn't as in charge as she had planned to be.

No matter how often she instructed one of them not to run around, the kids only behaved for 1 minute before returning to what could only be described as a game that was a mix between tag and hide-and-seek.

House sat down, gently rubbing his right leg a few times before putting the cane down alongside it, leaning back a little and observing the kids.

One of the younger boys ran past him, but then he saw one of his siblings approaching from the other side. He backtracked and quickly kneeled on the floor next to House, hiding behind his left leg, one hand carelessly put on House's knee as he peered around the corner to check where his older sister was.

House looked down at him as his mother pretended not to have noticed. In stead she was focusing her attention on the sister:

"Jessica, stop running!"

"Quick", House told the boy on his left, "she's coming."

With a giggling gasp of breath the blond boy slid back a little farther, then as his sister came closer got up and ran off.

The game went on for a few more minutes and then the mom called out, "Guys, snack time!"

They all gathered and got a carton of fruit juice and some bread. It was all squished and soggy from being in a warm plastic bag for too long, but neither of the kids seemed to care.

The one boy finished his food and drink, handed the empty carton to his mom and curiously turned to House as he took a few steps towards him.

"Hi, I'm Thomas."

"Hi Thomas."

At the older man's somewhat friendly reply, Thomas walked even closer and stared at the cane for a while.

"What's that?"

House noticed the mom next to him tensing up, again ignoring what made her uncomfortable, again pretending not to notice. This always amused and annoyed House. Kids should learn it was OK to be curious and inquisitive, not to ignore or be scared of what is considered to be "abnormal".

"This is a cane."

"Why do you have it?"

"I hurt my leg and it helps me walk."

Thomas thought for a while,

"Did you fall? Because uncle Paul fell and he hurt his leg too, but he did not have a cane. He had cruss…cruts…"

"Mommy, what did uncle Paul have when aunt Linda left the basket with the clothes on the stairs and he fell down all the way from the top?"

His mother now was forced to pay attention to her son who was interrogating the disabled man next to her, and this visibly made her highly uncomfortable.

"Crutches honey, now stop bothering that man."

But Thomas turned back to House,

"He had crutches! But he had two of them, and they were really big". He spread his hands out, indicating the size.

Then – glancing at House in case he was going to stop him – he reached out for the cane, touching the wooden handle.

"Why do you only have one, and why is it short?"

"I only need one, and it's not that short at all, it's almost as tall as you are!"

House held the cane up next to the boy, who smiled as he said "but I am bigger, am I?".

House nodded, inwardly grinning at the still increasing panic he could sense beside him. "Yes, you are."

Thomas once again took hold of the handle, "Can I try?"

Even for the mom this went too far, "Thomas, no, come here!"

House too shook his head, "Not now kid."

Thomas shrugged and nodded, turning to go back to his mother but changing his mind after two steps and turning back to House.

"Where does your leg hurt?"

House blinked surprised at the question, suddenly not really comfortable himself. Noticing how everyone within range had their ears perked, curious to know all the details about 'the man with the cane'.

House unconsciously put a hand on his right upper leg, "Go back to your mom kid."

But Thomas took two steps forward, gently laid both hands on House's knee and put a kiss on it.

"Better?" he asked, looking up to him hopefully.

"Much."

He wished it were true.

On the plane House listened to his iPod (drumming along with fingers on the arm rest of the seat, and annoying the hell out of his neighbor) until he fell asleep.

He was woken up by the flight attendants voice over the loudspeakers that informed him the plane would soon be landing, and would he please fasten his seatbelt.

He waited for most of the people to exit, shoved his iPod into his coat pocket, and then felt underneath his chair. Then he bent forward and looked underneath.

There was no cane there.

_Shit!_

He half dove underneath the seat again, it really wasn't there! A mild panic started to set in as he stood up and, holding on to the seat backs, limped a few steps forward.

Of course the flight attendant walked up to him within five seconds of indecisive looking around.

"Can I help you sir?"

House put a hand on his leg as he looked at her.

"I can't find my cane, it was under my seat."

The flight attendant bent down and peered underneath the seats.

"What does it look like sir?"

"It's cane shaped!", snapped House, and then he added,"black, with flames."  
The flight attended raised her eyebrows. " Flames? Sir, this is no time for practical jokes…."

House demonstratively limped two steps forward – no need to add a bit more limp for emphasis, it was already worse than normal. "Do I look like I'm joking?!".

Normally he did not feel disabled. He felt pain, but he knew he could hide it most of the time. He knew people saw him as 'that rude doctor', not as 'that crippled doctor'. And that was fine with him. His whole attitude denied limitation. He avoided stairs, but was otherwise as fast as any other person.

The flight attendant bent down, looked underneath the seat, and stood up again,

"It's not here…"

"I know!"

The flight attendant hesitated for a few seconds. Then she asked,

"Do you think you can walk out of the plane, and wait at the check in area so we can search the plane for you?"

She really meant " without you", "without you looking on, interfering, yelling."

House sighed, took his Vicodin out of his pocket and took two pills.  
"Yeah."

"Right, this way sir."

With the seat backs as stand-ins for his cane House made it to the exit without too much trouble.  
The walking actually loosened up his leg muscles a little, but after the door there was quite a long hallway with not much to hold on to except for the walls.

"I know the way, can't really take any wrong turns here, can I? You go back into that plane and find my cane!" He told the flight attendant, who was walking alongside him, looking as if she was ready to catch him when he toppled over. God, this was annoying enough without an audience!

Blushing slightly (or desperately holding back anger) the flight attendant turned around and House made the long slow limping walk through the tunnel, walking on the right side with his right hand on the wall. Pausing every 15 steps or so.

And then at the end the mom with the 5 kids from earlier were awaiting him.

"There he is!", one of his older brothers said to Thomas.

"He said I could use it later…", Thomas muttered, looking scared as he tried to hide behind his mom.

His mom was holding House's cane, and as she pulled Thomas out from behind her back she shoved it in his hand and pushed him forward.

"Give it back, and apologize!"

Thomas timidly walked up to House and handed him his cane back and with a quivering lower lip looked up to him.

"I'm sorry".

House took it from him, relieved to have it back.  
"Thank you. Didn't your mom teach you to ask before you take something?"

"You were asleep, and I asked before…" Thomas muttered a defense.  
House glared at the mother, then turned back to Thomas and nodded. "That's true."  
And he walked off.

He had to wait 10 minutes for his luggage to appear, and then he took a cab to his hotel.

_*)Note: For the Dr. Goodard story, read Accused by Teenwitch. It's not finished yet, but it's really good! (also, it will give you something to read while I'm working on the next chapter ;) and maybe a few reviews/nudges will help Teenwitch finish it..?)  
_


	23. Chapter 23

House checked in and took the elevator up to his room. 208, on the far end of the hallway.

He tossed his luggage on the floor, and stretched out on the large bed.  
He watched TV for a while, then ordered room service, and quickly checked the schedule for the next day.  
The first lecture he was ordered to attend (and Cuddy would check) was at 9 am, and then he had to speak at 2:15.

He set the alarm, and went to sleep.

The next morning he woke up, showered, arranged for a cab to pick him up, and made his way downstairs to get some breakfast.

After waffles with maple syrup he took a cab, and managed to not fall asleep during a 2-hour-long talk about what could pretty much be summed up as 'the importance of doing paperwork for running an efficient clinic'. As he was walking out of the conference room he took an extra Vicodin, and was enjoying mental images of Cuddy slipping in the shower – especially the shower part - when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Greg…? Greg!"

House turned around, looking in the direction of the sound and saw a tall man in jeans and a T-shirt approach.  
Short cut black hair with grey streaks."

"Hey, how have you been?", the man stretched his hand out to him.

House fumbled with the cane and shook it. "Matt?"

The man broadly smiled and nodded.  
"Yeah, man it's great to see you! What's it been, at least 20 year right? You've gotten old!"

He gave House a teasing punch in the shoulder that was almost hard enough to knock him off balance.  
Matthew Witten. Years ago in med school they were on several sports teams together. They had gotten along really well.

"Still playing uh?", Matt nodded at his leg, "what did you do, pull a muscle?"

"Yeah, something like that", House replied. "I thought you dropped out in your third year? What are you doing here?"

Matt shrugged.  
"Yeah, took a 2 year break, tried something else, but well – didn't work out. So I went back to uni and became a pharmacist."

House made a face.

"Yeah, I know, but it's actually really interesting. Good money too." Matt laughed.  
"I'm here to promote Rufinamide, which just got approved by the FDA for Lennox-Gastaut. You're working in Jersey, right?"

House nodded. "I'm not buying your pills though."

"We'll see, maybe I can talk you into that later. Have you had lunch yet?"  
House shook his head.

"Let's go, I'm buying. There's this great little place on 5th street."  
House hesitated.  
Matt noticed, "Fresh air, good food. It's only a few blocks away."  
House nodded an OK.

The weather was pretty great, considering it was Seattle, and House had to admit he enjoyed the slight breeze, and the company.  
They talked about work, Matt was very pleased to hear that he got his own department with 4 employees. "I always knew you were gonna be great!"

He was sad to hear about Stacey leaving – but didn't ask about the details - and eager to talk about his own life (wife, 3 kids, good job with a lot of freedom). He was also very pleased to try to get House to get his hospital to buy the rufinamide from him, to House's not-so-mild annoyance.

At the little place on 5th they got some takeaway Indian food in small cartons, then they walked back again. Matt started to eat some of his food, but when he noticed House didn't (cane, food, no free hand to eat and walk) he casually closed the carton again, and motioned to a picnic table alongside a small concrete square a bit further away, where a bunch of teenagers were shooting hoops.  
"Let's sit over there."

The food indeed was very good, and they ate and watched the kids for a while. Then Matt collected the empty boxes and walked to the trash bin, while House mindlessly rubbed his leg for a while. He watched Matt who picked up an overthrown ball, talked with a few of the kids, and motioned in House's direction. They laughed, and even from that distance it was obvious they didn't believe whatever it was that Matt was telling them.

Matt walked back to House and grumbled.  
"He called me gramps."  
"I told him we could beat them. Best out of ten throws, five each, only three pointers, you in?"

House's face clouded over a little, he instinctively moved his hand to his leg.

"Come on man, I'll get you some free Tylenol after...if you've really turned into a big wuss."

"He's in," he shouted back over his shoulder, then turned back to House. "Well?"

House grumbled, he'd forgotten how Matt always talked everyone into doing what he wanted them to do. And where with pretty much everyone else that would have only been incredibly annoying, with Matt people just..smiled and caved.

"If we win, I'll stop bugging you about the Rufinamide as well."  
House rolled his eyes, grabbed his cane and followed Matt onto the court.

One of the kids started, and scored. Matt scored, another kid scored. And then it was House's turn. He handed his cane to Matt and positioned himself. It felt strange, being on a basketball court again, holding the ball. Knowing he wouldn't really play now, knowing he wouldn't really play ever again. But when House scored his first shot, it also just a little felt like he still belonged there.

In the end they didn't win though. House scored 4 out of 5, Matt missed 2. The kids made 9 out of 10.  
House limped a few steps towards Matt to get his cane back.

"Should've known better than to think we could beat them on their own turf", Matt smiled, knowing the kids respect for them had gone up from the moment both he and House scored one.

The kids went back to their game, and House and Matt started to walk back to the conference rooms. House was not as fast as he'd liked to, and Matt had to adjust his pace.

Shooting hoops involved bending both knees and pushing off a little.  
Even if you didn't really jump up, you were asking for quite a bit of power from your upper legs.  
He had done most of the work with his good leg, but his body also remembered how it really should be done, and reflex or muscle memory had caused him to wince a few times.  
He had used his leg in a way it hadn't been used again after the infarction, and it was throwing a little hissy fit in protest.

"So, since we lost..", Matt started after they crossed the street.  
"Would you stop about the damned Rufinamide already?!" House snapped a little.

Matt stopped walking and looked at House.  
"I was kidding about the Tylenol, but I really have some free samples in my car if you need some...?"

House reached into his pocket and shook 2 pills into his palm, swallowed them dry, and rattled the bottle in Matt's direction.  
"I've got my own, thanks."

Matt looked at the label – occupational habit.  
"Vicodin?! Gee, that's a bit much for a pulled muscle don't you think..?"

House shrugged.  
"They removed some dead muscle a few years ago. Do call me when you are trying to sell any anti-nerve damage drugs."

House started walking again, and Matt followed. It was a while before he spoke.

"Sorry man, I didn't know."  
House shrugged again.  
Matt kept looking at him sideways, studying his face, noticing a well hidden wince every time he put his foot down.

"You're in pain..."

"Stop staring".

"Will that help?"

"...No."

Matt changed the subject and they arrived back at the conference center with House grinning at one of Matt's stories.

There were 6 steps leading up to the entrance with no railings for House to hold on to, and Matt instinctively stretched out his hand a bit when he saw House struggling.

House glared at him, "I _will_ hit you."

Matt grinned, "You have changed, and yet you haven't."

Inside, House checked his watch.  
"I'd better go and find out where room 62A is, I'm supposed to give a talk in 30 minutes."

"I've got a meeting with a client", Matt said, " I don't think I'll be finished before you leave for the hotel, and then for the airport. You leave at 2:15, right?"

House nodded.

Matt grabbed a businesscard and a pen, and scribbled his phone number on the back before handing the card to House.

"See you later then. Call me when you're in the area, we'll grab a drink. Shoot some hoops again... maybe...if you like."

"Sure, you too." House searched a few pockets and finally came up with a card which he handed Matt.

"Good luck with the drugs...if you sell them all you won't bug me about them ever again."

They shook hands and patted each other on the back.  
Matt smiled and raised his hand in a goodbye, as House limped off.

"Be well, House."

--FIN.--


End file.
